Ace Combat: Paradox Crisis
by Bloodmark Mentor
Summary: The Aces of the World are dead, and a new Superpower is rising. With their backs to the wall, the allies have only one hope left: Angel Squadron. But can they break through a relentless enemy and stop a takeover? Or will they be crushed?
1. First Blood

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Anyway, this is a paradox to the Ace Combat series. My buddy and I came up with the idea while walking to his place one night. It is going to be very interesting if you ask me. This is a re-written version of the first chapter, because the original one was a load of ass. Anyway, hope you enjoy.

Anyway, let's get started.

Time: 1327 hours

Year: Unknown Data Error # 13374

Location: Unknown.

"So, it is finished, then?"

"Yes, the machine is fully operational and ready for deployment."

"And we are to go by the original plan?"

"Yes."

"Very well... let's begin."

Data error, no more information found in archives

* * *

Time: 1546 hours

Location: McNealy airbase, Osea

Date: November 21st 1025

It was a crappy day at the base. Second Lt. Steven Miller had just barley completed his training at the time, but his flight lead was as much of a pain in the ass as ever. For one, he was all stressed that the base commander was on his ass because one of Lt. Colonel Holt's trainees crashed on landing. The pilot had survived, but he still crashed a 2.1 million zollar F-5E. Quite a waste, but at least the pilot was alive.

Miller was sitting in the lounge reading a book he had rented from the McNealy airbase library. It was a book about the Osean Wars, which were a series of battles fought between Osea and Belka in the 1940's. It was a particularly brutal conflict, with no clear victor; but what little information was there, suggested that Osea had won the war.

Miller's wingman, Second Lt. Michael Haverson entered the lounge, and plopped down on the couch.

"How'd it go today?" Miller asked.

"Terrible," Michael replied with great frustration. "Lt. Colonel Holt is still mad about the plane crash; not only that, but now we're being put on high alert for some stupid reason."

"What happened?" Miller asked again with great concern.

"Ah, it's nothing; probably just another drill or something like that." Miller felt a surge of uncertainty flow through his body. He walked outside to the hangars. His fighter was an F-16C Fighting Falcon, a low-cost, easy to maintain fighter that was both reliable, and dangerous. It was equipped with two Aim-9 Sparrows, and four Aim-120 AMRAAM missiles. He looked across the runway to the other side; Lt. Colonel Holt's F-15E Strike Eagle was sitting in another hangar. There were many aircraft at McNealy; F/A-18's, F-15's, F-14's, F-16's, etc.

Another pilot named Brian Zedon walked over with a cup of coffee and sat down.

"Man, what a nice day," he said while looking up in the blue sky. Miller sat there with his arms crossed, staring down the runway. He still had that strange feeling in his gut, though. Both of the pilots were still in full flight gear.

"So, Steve, how's your brother doing?" Brian asked with great enthusiasm.

"He's good," Miller replied. "He just joined up with his new battalion about a week ago."

"Good for him," Brian said as he sipped his coffee again. "How are your parents?"

"God, don't even ask me about them," Miller said with deep anger.

"Oh shit, sorry, man," Brian replied.

"It's okay; you don't know what happened."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Brian asked.

"No not really."

* * *

Up in the control tower, Paul Righner was monitoring the nearby airspace. He noticed a pair of F/A-18F's returning from a patrol operation. An Osean E-3 Sentry landed on the runway, and taxied to the side, followed by the two Hornets.

"Rango squadron, this is the control tower; welcome home."

"Roger that, control; it's good to be back." Paul looked back at the radar, and noticed an object traveling at high speeds. It was not transmitting a friendly IFF signal.

"Command, this is the Control Tower; I've picked up an unknown object approaching at high speeds. Bearing two, seven, zero."

"Roger that, we'll scramble a few planes." Miller couldn't help but notice a group of four pilots rush for their fighters. They pulled their F-15C's onto the runway and took off. The four-ship diamond formation screamed over the land in an attempt to intercept the unknown target. It was an A-12 Reconnaissance craft.

"Man, that thing looks ancient," said one of the pilots.

"Attention unidentified aircraft; you are flying in restricted Osean airspace," said the flight leader. "Change vector and head west immediately. If you do not comply, we will open fire. Do you copy, over?"

There was a large pause, and no response from the craft.

"Something tells me he didn't get the message," said another pilot. The plane began to speed away. Its afterburners ignited and it began to outrun the F-15 pilots.

"Command, the unknown is attempting to escape, requesting permission to engage."

"Roger that, Alpha one; you have a green light to engage. Splash the target."

"Roger that," said the leader as he switched the master arm off. Before he could fire, another unknown target picked him up.

"Damn it, bandit's got me locked!" he cried while trying to evade. Four missiles flew in from the distance, and nailed all four of the Eagles. The entire squadron began falling as one big fireball.

"Command, Alpha squadron has been decimated!" Righner cried.

"Sound the air raid siren! Scramble immediately!"

"Roger that!" Righner replied. The sirens began to blare over the entire base. Miller grabbed his helmet and jumped into his F-16.

"Am I good to go?" he asked one of the mechanics.

"Yes, sir!" he replied. Miller ran through the start up sequences on his plane. He noticed Haverson running out of the nearest building and climb into his Falcon.

"What the hell's going on?" he asked.

"I don't know; I think we're under attack!"

"Where's the Lt. Colonel?"

"He's inside, getting his gear on. He said to wait for him." Miller and Haverson sealed the canopies on their craft. Multiple aircraft were taking off in an attempt to intercept the unknown enemy. Miller looked up and saw two B-1B Lancers sore overhead and release a couple dozen bombs. They impacted the runway and the hangars, destroying a good number of allied aircraft.

"Damn it! Where is he?" Steven asked in panic.

"There he is!" Haverson exclaimed over the radio. Holt and his weapons officer ran for the Strike Eagle. SAM's and AA guns were being brought out.

"Miller, Haverson!" Holt called over the COMM channel. "Get your asses on the runway; now!"

Miller and Haverson pulled their Falcons around to Holt's flank, and lined up on the runway. A pair of SU-30's screamed overhead and dropped a dozen bombs on the hangars. The explosion shook the earth and left several fighters destroyed, more following as the hangar roofs fell in. A few seconds passed then secondary explosions lit the area as the fuel and other flammables in the protective structures began to cook off.

"Command center, do you read me?" Holt asked. "Do we have takeoff clearance?"

"Roger that, Angel One; takeoff clearance has been granted. Scramble!"

"Copy that; you heard him Angel flight. Let's get out of here!"

"Right behind you sir," Miller replied.

The three planes accelerated down the runway, afterburners lighting one after another almost in sequence, and took off to meet the enemy. It was both Miller and Haverson's first real battle. Not a lot of fighters had managed to take off. They were outnumbered and outgunned. Miller could only hope that he would live through this and that reinforcements would arrive.

"Angel squadron, break formation and take out the enemy," said Holt, "don't worry, you two are my best students, just follow your instincts and training and you'll make it."

That being said, Miller and Haverson broke to opposite directions. Miller could see many contacts on his scope; the ally to enemy ratio was insane. There had to be at least three enemies to one ally. However one enemy that caught his eye was a lone F-20A flying out to the east. He turned his Falcon on an intercept course. All sorts of fighters flew around, chasing after each other violently, more than a few exploding into so much shrapnel. Miller was getting in range to fire an AMRAAM missile. He locked up the lone bandit and hit the button. Outside, the AMRAAM under his left wing burst off the rail and sped away, becoming nothing but a cherry-red dot in seconds.

He pulled away and watched the countdown on his HUD spool down to zero. When it hit zero, he checked the radar.

There was no sign of the other contact

"Yes!" he shouted, elation surging through him, leaving a warm glow in his stomach. "My first kill!" Miller pulled the Viper into a hard reversal and went screaming back into battle and it didn't take long for his next objective to present itself.

"This is McNealy! We've taken severe damage from enemy bomber attacks. We need some support over here!"

"Ripper's inbound!" Haverson replied. "Scorch, back me up!"

"Roger that. I've got your six." Miller joined up on Haverson's back as they hurtled at the bombers. There were three of them and the two pilots divided the quarry and prepared to engage.

"Scorch, Fox Three!"

"Ripper, Fox Three!"

The two AMRAAM's dropped off cleanly and lit their motors as one, zooming off and flying in almost perfect formation. There was a second or two delay then twin fireballs bloomed in the distance. Tracers spewed up in a red stream from the ground, shearing off the swept wing of the third B-1, the wounded bomber rolling inverted and spinning into the ground.

"Splash one bomber flight!" said Haverson. "Move on to the next!"

It had been ten minutes since Angel squadron had taken off, and already, casualties among allied air units began to mount. Miller had scored two victories thus far. It wasn't much, but at least he was contributing, and he was still alive to boot. Despite what was happening to the Allies, his day was looking up.

"Incoming message from ground control. Sixty percent of our forces are already lost."

Or not.

"Where are the reinforcements?" another pilot asked, clearly desperate for any kind of help.

"We've called in support from Sand Island; It'll be three minutes before they get here," Righner announced.

"Thank god!" Haverson said, relieved. "All planes, keep it up just a little longer."

It was one of those things that was easier said than done. In the three minutes that passed, sixteen allied planes were shot down and only five were lost from the mysterious attackers.

"God damn it!" another pilot cried. "Who are these guys?" Miller took a closer look at the enemy planes. They were unmarked, no sign of a roundel or flag or any other sort of mark that fighters typically carried. The planes were native to many countries, including Osea, Yuktobania, and the ISAF, so guessing where they came from by what planes they flew was out. However, that was not important. What was important was the fact that they weren't friendly, and that was all Angel Squadron needed to know.

As he finished his thoughts, a JAS-39C Gripen flew right in front of Miller's plane. He jumped, but his finger thought for him and the cannon in the side of the Falcon's fuselage let off a stream of red bullets, tearing the other fighter to shreds. No sign of an ejecting pilot.

"Nice work, Angel Two," said Holt in regards to Miller's latest kill, as the flight lead shot past in hot pursuit of another bogey.

"Thank you, sir," Miller replied with a grin.

"This is bad; we're surrounded," another pilot announced.

"Attention, all Osean Air Defense Force Pilots," a voice announced over the radio. "This is Wardog Squadron. Hold tight; we're inbound."

Four black camouflage F-14D's circled in from the west, along with several other squadrons.

"All right, they're here!" Miller exclaimed, his spirits lifting. It was Wardog, the infamous Razgriz Squadron of the Circum-Pacific war. This battle would turn around. Wardog was legendary for its ability to show up and change the tide of battle in an instant. Some even went as far as to say they were better at changing a battle around than Mobius Squadron.

"Wardog squadron, this is Angel One," Holt called, the relief and awe apparent in his voice. Even a hardened war veteran like the White Fang was awed by the combat prowess of The Four Wings of Sand Island. "Care to join the party?"

"You know it," the leader replied, sounding almost eager to engage the enemy. "Wardog, engage and splash all hostiles!" Wardog squadron broke formation and began to merge with the attacking fighters. Almost as soon as they did, the battle began to turn.

It was dogfighting like nothing Miller had ever seen. Wardog seemed to move as one, each pilot reading the others moves and making their own adjustments based on that. Even as the rookie pilot watched, Wardog One, also know as Blaze, began to hound one of the enemy fighters, but the enemy pilot was either so good or so terrified that he was able to keep the legendary ace from getting a bead.

"Edge, can you get in position to scare him?" asked Blaze, sounding like he was out for a walk and not embroiled in a life-or-death battle in the sky.

"Roger that! Be ready when I get there, standby" answered Nagase. Two bandits were on her tail, trying to lock her up, but she managed to keep away from them for the second she needed to set up. She pulled around to her leader's front, her cannon opening up and the first bandit bursting into flames and arcing for the earth in a trial of oily black smoke, the fighters on _her_ tail dropping right into Blaze's line of fire the moment Edge cleared it. With a hot stream of lead, the three fighters had been shot down.

"Man, those guys are good," said another pilot, who was trying to keep an eye on both the Razgriz and his own target. It didn't work out too well, and the enemy got on him. "Shit! Someone, clear my six!"

"Hold on, I'm coming in," called one of the Wardog members, Capt. Snow of the ONDF, as he dropped behind the pursuing enemy and began to follow him. Seconds later, a Sidewinder burned from the bottom of his Tomcat and turned the enemy into a metallic snowshower.

One of the Razgriz came in from above Miller's plane, screaming over him so low and fast that Miller was jolted in his seat as the airflow was disrupted for an instant. The Razgriz, Hans Grimm, let a heater fly and the enemy tried to pull away and decoy the missile with flares, but the Sidewinder wasn't fooled and homed in on its target flawlessly.

The enemy blew up and as the fireball expanded, so did Miller's hopes of actually living through this vicious furball.

Grimm looped away, his Tomcat seeming to move as gracefully as an F-22, and the Four Wings of Sand Island sought out other targets, decimating the enemy forces as easily and relentlessly as the demon from which they'd received their nickname.

The playing ground had been leveled.

Although the Osean forces were still outnumbered and relatively outgunned, Wardog's skill had balanced everything out.

The tide was turning. Osea was going to win.

* * *

To the east, ten aircraft entered the combat zone at high speed. The nine other craft lined up in V formation behind the leader.

"Grievous one to all units. Begin the operation; take no prisoners," said the leader, his voice echoing across the battlefield like some cold Grim Reaper.

"Roger that, boss," one of his units replied.

"Targets are within firing range. All units, fire at will." A volley of AMRAAM missiles was launched from the aircraft, slamming into the OADF's forces within seconds.

"Holy crap!" exclaimed Holt as a field of fire broke out around him, taking almost half of the surviving planes with it. The Grievous squadron broke formation lightning quick and just as easily and confidently as Wardog had when they'd entered the foray.

"Damn it! These guys are good!" Blaze growled, pulling around to take the new arrivals head on, the other three Razgriz pulling in along side him. "Anyone see them?"

"Ripper, tallyho, bearing zero-niner-zero, range three miles," said Haverson, the rookie pilot sounding like he had something caught in his throat. Miller knew what he felt like. It was the fear of engaging a lethal enemy at their level. "Looking like…nine Wyverns and one…Nosferatu!"

"You're kidding me!" said Grimm.

"Well, it looks like we're gonna have some fun, here," said Blaze with great excitement.

"All planes, leave them to us," he finished. Wardog split into two groups, one coming in from below, the other from above. It was a tactic that they used to fence their enemies in, using altitude difference as a major advantage. However, it didn't work this time, as the enemy planes had been able to predict their move, and incidentally broke away.

"Damn it!" Snow exclaimed in frustration. "I was sure that was gonna work." Nagase was trailing behind a Wyvern, letting off tracers every second she could; but it was all in vain. The Wyvern pulled into a stall-turn and forced her to overshoot. Another one joined up on his side and now Nagase was being taken two on one.

"I could use a little help here!" she cried over the radio.

"Hold on Edge, I'll clear your six o'clock for you," said Grimm as he dove for Nagase's position. He was just about to let loose with an Aim-9, another bandit had picked him up. It was the Nosferatu. Grimm pulled away and dove for the deck. He checked behind him, the fighter was still there.

"Damn it, are you kidding me?" he asked in frustration. The Nosferatu fired a stream of bullets from his two Vulcan cannons, which tore eight massive holes in Grimm's plane.

"Archer! You're trailing fire!" called Blaze.

"I can't hold on!" he screamed while the enemy plane finished him off. There was a scream of terror followed by silence; the unthinkable had happened. Grimm had been killed.

"What just happened?" Miller asked in shock.

"ARCHER!!" Blaze cried over the radio as he watched the Tomcat explode into so much debris. In his grief, a Wyvern had picked him up and fired an Aim-9. Blaze Immelmanned and pulled to the right, letting off chaff as he did. He had lost the bandit; or so he thought. The Nosferatu was almost right up his tailpipe, and fired a barrage of bullets into Blaze's Tomcat, leaving nothing but a cockpit hurtling towards the earth.

"What the hell is going on!" another pilot asked. "Two members of Wardog are down!"

Miller checked his scope; more enemy planes were coming in. The situation just went from good to bad in a moments notice.

Captain Snow was having a difficult time, with two Wyverns hounding him like wolves in lag pursuit. Tracers screamed passed his canopy. One bullet clipped his Tomcat's left wing, which damaged the craft. The warning alarm began to blare through the cockpit.

"Shit, where are they?" he asked. He couldn't see the planes on his scope, because they were stealths, and he couldn't see them because they were in his blind spot. Another burst of tracers penetrated his canopy, killing both him and the weapons officer. The Tomcat blew up and left nothing but shrapnel.

Miller was trying and failing to lock up one of the Wyverns, who seemed years ahead of Miller as far as experience and overall skill. The Wyvern pulled a Cobra, forcing Miller to overshoot. The Wyvern fired his last Aim-9 into Miller's tailpipe. His Falcon exploded and began falling.

"Scorch! Bail out!" Haverson cried. Miller fell into combat shock and could not comprehend what was going on. His vision blurred and his nose began to bleed. He quickly snapped back to reality and realized what was going on. He checked his altitude; four thousand feet. He reached for the eject handle and pulled as hard as he could. Steven was sent flying out of the canopy of his Falcon, which he watched exploded a few yards away. The Wyvern pilot circled around, and shot Miller a look that he never forgot.

Steven fell for a few seconds before hitting the ground. He unclipped his harness and dropped from the chair. Ten seconds later, he passed out, unconscious.

* * *

Chapter one is complete. However, I cannot take all of the credit for this chapter. I had a lot of help from my good friend Wingedfreedom622. Dude, I thank you ever so much for your help. Thank you.

Credits

James Tobin: Concept/Idea's

Thomas John: Dialogue/Events


	2. Rescue

Disclaimer: I still own nothing.

Time: 1627 hours

Date: November 21st 2025

Location: McNealy airbase, Osea

Miller reawakened. He was bruised all over. Places he didn't know existed hurt. He opened his eyes, his vision was blurry, and his face had been cut with a large shard of glass from the ejection. He looked around; and he couldn't believe his eyes. The base had been destroyed, and the only other things around him were incinerated plane carcasses. The enemy had won. The smell of burning aluminum and blood filled the air. He walked further, before collapsing from exhaustion. He tried to pull himself up, but he simply didn't have the strength to do it.

"Hello!" he called. "Is anyone out there; can anybody hear me!?"

"Steven!" a voice called back as Haverson pulled himself up from a large amount of debris. He ran over to Miller, and held him in his arms.

"What happened?" Miller asked. "Where's the Lt. Colonel?" There was a pause. The overwhelming feeling of hopelessness already filled their heads, did they need anymore?

"He's dead," Haverson finally replied, not wanting to lie to his good friend. "Everyone's dead." Miller sat there, in awe at the words that had been uttered. McNealy was home to some of Osea's best pilots, and in less than two hours, they were all killed. Not even the legendary 108th tactical fighter squadron (a.k.a the Wardog Squadron) survived. Who were those pilots? What country were they from? But most importantly, did anyone else know what happened?

* * *

A few hours passed. They spent the entire time looking for more survivors... preferably ones from Wardog squadron. Incinerated F-16's, 18's, and 15's littered the area. After a while, Haverson gave up.

"This is hopeless," he said as he sat on a nearby rock. "No one else made it." Miller sat down as well. He had been good friends with quite a few of the stationed pilots. Jason Moore. He was an average pilot at best, but was an extremely likeable person. He was always up for a conversation, and always made things interesting. Marcus Henderson. He was the funny guy in the group. No matter how sad someone was, Marcus could cheer them up in an instant. A not so likable person was Allen Waterfield. He was an extremely talented pilot, but was quite the asshole. Every time someone tried to complement him on something, he either turned away, or made a smarmy comeback. He had this feeling of intellectual superiority over everyone, and not many people talked to him. He rarely ever made conversation with others. So maybe he being dead wasn't so bad after all. And lastly was Wayne Holt, Millers flight lead, and mentor. He was a hard ass, but a brilliant flight instructor. He could take the weakest, greenest rookie and turn him into a fierce, hardened, combat-ready fighter pilot. That of course, was no longer a possibility.

Just as all hope seemed lost, Miller heard what sounded like vehicles in the distance. He looked over the debris and saw a convoy approaching. He waved his hands in the air, as did Haverson. The convoy screeched to a halt. Osean Marines wielding green camouflage and XM8 Grenadier assault rifles piled out. Their company commander also stepped out of the vehicle.

"Hello!" he called. "Are you two OADF pilots?"

"Yes, sir," Haverson responded.

"Identify yourselves."

"My name is Second Lt. Michael Haverson, fifth air division, 203rd tactical fighter squadron, sir." The commander paused, and then looked to Miller.

"And you?" he asked.

"Second Lt. Steven Miller, fifth air division, 203rd tactical fighter squadron, sir." The commander consulted one of his Marines. The solider proceeded into one of the Hummers, and took out his laptop. He logged into the Osean Self Defense Force (OSDF) mainframe. He searched the both of their names. They both came up as registered OADF pilots. The marine gave his commander a thumb up, indicating that they were okay.

"Alright," he said. "Come on down." The two pilots proceeded to the vehicles. A group of Marines escorted them into the back of one of the hummers. The remaining troops piled in. The convoy proceeded back on course.

* * *

Time: 1753 hours

Date: November 21st 2025

Location: Oured, Osea

President Paul Harling, son of Vincent Harling, was in a meeting with the head of the OMDF (Osean Maritime Defense Force) about building three new Nimitz Aircraft Carriers to replace the ones that had been lost during the Circum Pacific War. The negotiations were fierce. It's not easy to build one of those. It takes many years and costs a lot of money; about 4.5 billion dollars each. The Osean Military budget was about 548 Billion dollars, the largest in the world right next to Yuktobania's 527 Billion dollar budget. In fact, it was top of the five largest military budgets in the world, with Aurelia being the third, Estovakia being the fourth, and ISAF being the fifth. And on top of building three new Carriers, the OADF also wanted to build eighty-six brand new F-22A's. But that was a meeting for another day. Harling listened to their argument. It would cost an extensive amount of money, but would greatly strengthen Osea's ability to counterattack.

"Very well, gentlemen," said Harling. "You've sold me; we will begin drawing up plans for three Nimitz Aircraft Carriers." Harling was signing the papers when the Secretary of Defense, Nathan Sanders walked in.

"Mr. President, there's been an attack," he whispered. Harling finished signing, and left the room.

"What do we know?" he asked as they proceeded down the hall.

"Well, sir, that's the thing… we don't know much about them," Sanders replied. "They destroyed McNealy air force base, and wiped out the Sand Island Squadron."

Harling, stunned, stopped to a halt. He looked at the Sec Dev like he was completely out of his mind.

"Sand Island squadron?" he asked. "_The_ sand Island squadron that destroyed two Scinfaxi class submarines, the Arc Bird, and The SOLG; that sand island squadron?"

"Um yes, sir." Harling sat down in his desk as they walked into his office.

"Sweet Jesus…" he muttered. Things had just turned serious. Not only was Wardog the best squadron in the OADF, but they were the first line of defense against an enemy invasion.

"What else do we know?" Harling asked.

"We also know that they somehow acquired nine X-02 Wyverns, and a CFA-44 Nosferatu."

"That's impossible; the only Nosferatu in existence was destroyed during the Emmerian-Estovakian War."

"That's not entirely true, Mr. President," Sanders replied.

"Explain."

"After the war, the Emmerian military acquired two CFA's from an unknown source… both of which were used in test flights; they never actually saw combat."

Harling looked out the window at the city. He noticed a flock of birds in the distance. He sighed. Why was it the Osea always managed to become involved in some conflict? Be it the Belkan War or the Circum Pacific war, it didn't matter. Osea wasn't a peaceful nation, but they certainly tried their best not to get into peoples business. And to what end? Now they were on the brink of another war. Wars are very annoying. War generally involves wasting a lot of money, a lot of people getting killed and a lot of widow-making. Years before this, ISAF and Eurusia entered a ceasefire after an intense war; Emmeria had been destroyed by Estovakia after the Chandelier project was finished; and during the Belkan War, Ustio and Sapin were wiped off the map by V2 missiles. Fifteen years after Osea and Yuktobania defeated Belka, both countries were thrust into the Circum Pacific War. It was only after the 108th TFS informed Sand Island base that Belka was behind it all that the fighting stopped.

"How did we acquire this information? Harling asked.

"We rescued two survivors from the battle; Second Lt. Steven Miller and Second Lt. Michael Haverson."

'Finally some good news,' Harling thought. "Where are they now?"

"The two were rescued by the Marines, and are currently on their way to Fort Anderson."

"Good," Harling replied. "I want to know everything they know; no more, no less."

* * *

Time: 1926 hours

Date: November 21st 2025

Location: Osean Military Fort "Anderson" five miles from the Coast line.

After hours of driving, the convoy arrived at Fort Anderson. Miller and Haverson were taken to the hospital. Their wounds needed to be treated. Miller was waiting in his room. There were some OSDF magazines in there. He picked up the first one, which showed an Osean solider on top of a mountain with his assault rifle. Quite an iconic image among trainees and new recruits. The next one showed two Raptor jets flying high in the sky. Miller wasn't a fan of the Raptor. The whole "stealth" aspect struck him as cowardly, and dishonorable. In his opinion, any man who had to hide under the radar to accomplish their mission wasn't worthy of his wings. Now the SU-37... _that_ was a fighter jet. Fast, maneuverable, and no stealth. Not only was it his favorite aircraft since he was ten, but it was also flown by his idol; the infamous Yellow Thirteen. He was the reason Miller had joined the force in the first place. Just as he began to day dream, a tall man walked in.

"Hey there," he said in an optimistic voice. "How you doin'?"

"Well, I've been better, doc," Miller replied.

"Don't worry; we're just gonna check you out, stitch you up, and then your free to go."

The doctor walked over to the desk, and put on a pair of rubber gloves. He held a flash light up to Millers face.

"Oh, that's quite a nasty gash you've got there," he said. The doctor looked at it for a few more seconds.

"Yep, that's gonna need stitches." He walked over to the desk, and pulled out two syringes. He took the first one, pulled off the cap and stuck it into Millers right forearm. The second one went into his shoulder. These needles would num the pain from the stitches.

A few minutes and nineteen stitches later, they were done.

"Okay, my friend," the doctor announced. "You're good to go." Miller sat up and stretched.

"Hey doc, I never got your name," he said.

"The names Dr. Lampert; but you can call me Marcus." Miller's eyes widened. This man was Marcus Lampert, the legendary Garuda 2, Shamrock. He disappeared after Estovakia re-invaded Emmeria. He was last seen in the skies over Gracemeria, where he and Garuda 1 were shot down defending the city from cruise missile attacks. He was presumed dead. The capital was destroyed, and the Emmerians were once again driven back to Kheshed Island. Kheshed now makes up the entire country. Estovakia has allowed the Emmerians to live there, but with strict boundaries.

"You're Garuda two?" Miller asked. The doctor turned around.

"Yeah, that's me," he replied.

"What happened?" Miller asked. "You were a top ace of the Emmerian air force."

"Well, after my wingman was shot down, I as well was hit; I landed the craft at low speed on the water to avoid a crash.

"Afterwards, I ran away to escape the enemy; and I've lived here ever since."

"I assume you're here cause of a similar situation, we don't see many of your kind around here."

"My kind?" Miller asked.

"Survivors."

"As time soldiered on, weapons became more advanced, more deadly. Now a days, it is rare to find a pilot who survives being shot down; these new missiles and gun rounds contain more high explosive than those used in past conflicts, ergo we see less and less pilots come back. There is no more honor, no mercy, no more pride. Warfare has become more and more routine. Young men and women dying for no reason, no reason at all!" The former Garuda 2 slammed his fist against the desk, Miller flinched and a picture frame fell off the desk. Miller picked it up. It was a picture of his family.

"Is this your family?" he asked.

"Was…" Miller could sense the despair in his voice. However something deep inside him urged him to press the matter.

"I'm sorry… that's a little cold-hearted" Lampert said.

"No," Miller replied. "Explain the matter." Lampert hesitated. He let a breath out.

"During the war my family was killed while I was out on the front. I couldn't do anything to protect them; I've had to live with that guilt for fifteen years… I didn't even get to say goodbye to them." A tear rolled down Lampert's face. As flashbacks began to dance in Marcus's head, a light flicked on in Miller's 

to stop pursuing the matter. He could see that remembering these atrocities caused Marcus pain beyond anything that he could ever comprehend. Just as Miller was about to exit the room, Lampert stopped him.

"Hey, you take care of yourself," he said.

"You too, doc." And that was that. Miller regrouped with Haverson.

"You are not gonna believe who I just met," Miller said. "Marcus Lampert."

"No way," Haverson replied. "That's insane. I thought we was dead"

"Yeah, I know. Turns out he's alive. He told me a lot of things about the war… very interesting guy."

"I just have one question," said Haverson. "What are we going to do for planes?"

"Eh, I'm sure they'll give us new ones soon enough." Five minutes later, the bases speakers came to life.

"Attention all personnel, report to the hangar immediately for an important announcement."

"Well, the moment of truth," said Miller. "Lets go." They proceeded into the hangar. There were other pilots as well, and many Marines. The base commander approached a podium. The crowd saluted him. He tapped the microphone.

"Good afternoon," he said. "At 1327 hours today, McNealy airbase was attacked. The enemy attacked with a massive fighter squadron, and wiped out the base; all but two pilots died." The statement was followed by silent outbursts and shock within the crowd.

"Yuketobania is also reporting attacks on several heavily populated areas, and ISAF has been attacked as well. Based on the serial numbers from obtained parts of the downed craft, we are guessing that these were Estovakian fighters; however, we cannot confirm this at the moment.

"We are currently at DEFCON 5, and will be standing by until further notice. That is all."

'So it really wasn't Yuketobania,' Miller thought.

"Second Lt. Steven Miller?" an Army Major asked. "Yes, sir?"

"You need to come with us, son." They walked through the base. He could see soldiers conversing. What were they talking about? They reached the end of one the halls. The Major opened the door to a room which read, Interrogation in bold lettering. Miller felt his stomach twist. Osean Marines were not pushovers. Miller sat down, as did the Major. There were armed guards with them. The Major took his standard issue Desert Eagle out of his holster, and placed it on the desk.

"Okay, son," he said. "We're not gonna hurt you, we just want to know what you saw; is that clear?" he asked in a calm yet intimidating voice.

"Yes, sir," Miller replied.

"Very well. First off, what aircraft did you see during the battle?"

"Well, there were some Flankers, some Typhoons, the usual basic fighter jets."  
"Mhm, and were there any unusual aircraft?" he asked.

"Umm, yes, sir; there was a group of Wyverns that were lead by a CFA-44."

"Bingo," the Major said. "That's all we need to know, son. You're free to go." Miller nodded and left the room. Haverson awaited him outside.

"How'd it go?"

* * *

And so concludes the second chapter. Is Estovakia behind the attack, or is someone helping them? Find out next time.

Credits

James Tobin- Concept

Thomas John- everything else.


	3. Back On The Frontlines

Time: 0306 hours

Location: Fort Anderson, Osea

Date: November 22nd 2025

Miller had trouble falling asleep that night. He kept thinking about what Marcus had told him. War. What a stupid concept. The only reason Miller was in the OSDF to begin with was because the mandatory draft of 2021. Osea's government decided that after high school, all citizens, both men and women, owed at least three years to the military. The only good thing about the deal was that they let you choose what branch you wanted to be in. His friend Brian chose to join the Navy, and his brother, Nathan decided to join the Ground forces. Miller joined the Air force not because it seemed a lot safer, but because of his sheer obsession with fighter jets. If someone dared to have a conversation with him about it, he would go on for hours. He memorized every detail about every plane he could get his hands on down to the materials used to build it. In some way, it was a dream come true for him.

"Hey, Steve," Haverson whispered from atop the bunk bed. "You still awake?"

"Yeah, I'm still here," he replied.

"Dude, my Ipod died, can I use yours?" he asked.

"You still have that thing?" Miller asked back. After all, their base was attacked, and destroyed.

"I bought it with me before we took off."

"Why?" Miller asked again in a seemingly annoyed tone.

"You know how boring it is when you bail out. All of the waiting and shit is enough to drive a man insane."

"Well, considering I passed out before I could discover that feeling, I actually don't."

"Ah you suck," Haverson finished as he rolled on his side. Haverson listened to metal. They both did. It was pretty much the only thing they had in common. Haverson frequently asked Steve for his Ipod. Miller's favorite band was Exodus, and older band, but they kicked ass. He had seen them in concert way back in 2015. He had met the bands guitarist, Lee Altus, who gave him lessons, and often invited Steven to hang out with the band. They were like a second family to him. His real family hated him. They were all raised Catholic, not that he was an atheist or anything, Miller prayed every time he went up, and especially before the battle the day before. He was different. His family conformed to everything the bible told them to. His parents told him that he was never going to succeed in life, He could even recall one moment where his father told him he was a waste of space. "You're not my son," he would tell him. Steven tried to burn his house down on a few occasions before deciding to run away. He went missing for three weeks until the cops found him hiding in an abandoned warehouse. When he finished high 

school he decided that he was never going to return home again. This place was heaven compared to that hell hole. He looked at the clock. The sun was coming up soon; he decided to use those few precious hours get some sleep. As soon as he closed his eyes, he was out like a light.

* * *

Time: 0745 hours

The morning had arrived. Steve awakened to be met by soar eyes and a runny nose. Perfect. He quickly rinsed off, and jumped into his clothing. He met up with Haverson in the mess hall.

"What happened to you?" Haverson asked in a satirical voice.

"Fuck off," Miller replied. "I couldn't sleep last night."

The base speakers activated. "Attention all pilots, report to the hangar for an emergency briefing."

The many pilots entered the hangar. Miller and Haverson sat down. The base commander approached the podium.

"Good morning, gentlemen. First things first, it has been confirmed that Estovakia was not behind the attacks from yesterday. A country south of Yuketobania, Verusa, has declared war on Osea. At 0553 hours today, Verusa launched a full-scale invasion of both Osea, and Yuketobania. Verusa is said be in possession of a massive arsenal of weapons. They are using Akerson hill as a staging point for their attack. Your mission will be to deal as much damage as you can to the Verusan forces, and if possible, drive them out of Osea."

Miller looked to Haverson. "I've never heard of this country," he said.

"Me either. All we can do is go out there and hope for the best."

"However," the commander continued. "Be aware that the Verusan forces are no push-overs. _Do not_ underestimate them. They are highly skilled combat professionals; many of them have been fighting since before some of you were born, and they will stop at nothing to achieve their goal. Stay sharp out there; dismissed."

* * *

Miller and Haverson were getting into their flight-gear, when a young Osean pilot approached them.

"You two are the survivors of the attack?" he asked. Haverson turned around.

"Yeah, that's us, who wants to know?"

"Oh, I don't mean any hostility, sir," he replied. "I've been assigned as your teams number 3."

The base commander walked up behind the young pilot.

"Hello, gentlemen," he said. "I see you've met my son, Jacob. I've assigned him to your squadron. Which one of you is Steven Miller?"

"That would be me, sir," Miller replied as he turned around.  
"Congratulations, son; you've just been promoted to squadron leader; come talk to me if you live long enough to make it back."

"Oh, and in case you were wondering, we've replaced your planes; they'll be waiting for you in hangar 6-B."

They finished getting into gear, and proceeded to hangar 6-B. Three F-2A's awaited them. The planes were armed with Long Range Anti-Ship Missiles (LASM), as well as the two regular Aim-9's. They climbed in and began the start up. It took him and Haverson a little longer, since they were not too familiar with the controls. He sealed the canopy. The single turbofan engine came alive. The pilots pulled their planes out of the hangar.

"Control, this is Angel 1, requesting permission to approach runway two."

"Roger that, Angel 1," the controller replied. "Approach runway number two and await further instructions."

"Copy that." As Angel team pulled their craft to the runway, they could see allied planes taking off. Miller envied the "Veterans" of the Circum-Pacific War. Lt. Colonel Holt had fought alongside the Wardog Squadron on a few occasions, the most notable one being the final battle of the war. The squadron lined up the planes on the runway. Miller checked over everything one last time.

"Angel 1, take off clearance has been granted; take to the skies."

"Roger, Angel 1, taking off."

"Angel 2, taking off."

"Angel 3, taking off." The planes accelerated; soon enough, they were airborne. The controller chimed in.

"Angel team, lift off confirmed; Theta team takeoff in sixty seconds." There were multiple squadrons in the air. It was no surprise, seeing as Osea had the largest air force in the world. Again, the sun was out, and it was perfect areal combat weather. An hour passed before anyone talked.

"So, you guys are Angel squadron," said an allied pilot. "I've heard of you guys; I can't wait to see you in action."

"Thanks, but we're not that good," Miller replied. "We're not even aces."

"Any first timer to get shot down and survive is an ace in my book, kid," he said.

"I appreciate your sincerity," Miller finished.

"Hey, Angel 3," Haverson called. "You need a call-sign."

"How about Alias?" he asked.

"Okay, if you really want it," Haverson replied.

* * *

Two hours into their trip, the allied squadrons finally arrived at the mission airspace.

"Airborne warning and control system 'Hawk Eyes' to all Osea aircraft. The Verusan forces are spread out into three areas. There is a fleet of ships stationed at the beachhead, and they have established a base camp for their forces coming ashore. They have also constructed a field-runway; taking that out will double the damage to their forces. Good luck."

The planes began to spread out. "Okay, Alias, with me, were going after the ships; Ripper, fly top cover for us. Got it?"

"Roger, captain," Jacob replied. Miller stopped for a second. Captain sounded strange when it was directed towards him. Blips began to appear on radar. At first there were only a few of them, but when they got closer the numbers began to increase.

"Holy shit," another pilot said in awe.

"Their here," a Versuan solider announced. "Commence attack." The Verusans opened fire on the Osean planes. Flak guns blanketed the air and AA artillery rippled fire at them from all directions.

"How the hell are we supposed to get through that?" Haverson asked.

"We'll just have to go around it," Miller replied as he snapped on his oxygen mask. He and Jacob descended to three thousand feet, right below the fire. Miller increased throttle. He spotted a group of Flak guns. If he could take out even a few of them, the enemies attack capabilities would be severely hampered. He was getting closer to the guns. He was now in gun range. He let off a stream of bullets that tore through two of the guns. He circled around and took out two more. Jacob had already destroyed four SAM sites. He looked upward, the number of explosions decreased.

"Okay, nows our chance," he said. "All aircraft move in!"

"Roger, Angel 1, we're going in." The many Osean aircraft came in from above and annihilated the remaining anti-air instillations.

"Hurry and launch the fighters," the Verusan commander called. Multiple J-10's took off from the runway. The planes began to clash. Miller spotted the enemy fleet. There were sixteen ships in total. An Admiral Kuznetsov-class Carrier, two Kirov-class Cruisers, three HARUNA-class destroyers, four Sachsen-class frigates, and six gunboats. Miller decided that the best way to handle this was to tear away at the foundation of the fleet, and set his sights on the Carrier.

"Okay, Alias, arm your anti-ship missiles and standby."

"Copy that, captain." The two planes approached the flagship. Miller quickly armed his special weapons. The tone of the alert signal began to blare; a bandit had caught him.

"Angel 1, evade!" called an allied pilot. Miller jerked the plane to the left, looping around for another go at the ship. He hit the fire button, an LASM detached from Miller's plane. The rocket engine ignited, and the missile gained speed. The Carrier crew opened fire on the it, and intercepted it.

"God damn it!" Miller exclaimed just seconds before Jacob's missile collided with the ship. The explosion tore a large hole in the mammoth Carrier, and it began to list.

"Man, you worry too much," Jacob said as he rejoined Miller. He chuckled at that. Every pilot enjoyed a good joke every now and then. Miller regained focus and turned to go after another ship. They were joined by another group of F-2A's. They sunk three more ships, and took out some of the ground installations. But they were _taking _losses as well; a significant amount of Osean aircraft had been destroyed, including one of the other F-2A's.

"Haverson, status report," Miller demanded.

"I've got two bandits on my tail; I need help!" Miller pulled the plane upward as he increased the throttle. As he climbed and gained velocity, g-forces smacked him into the seat. He spotted Haverson struggling to hold off the two bandits.

"Okay, Angel 2, I need you to fly as straight as you can, got it?"

"What are you, nuts?"

"I'm not gonna let them down you, just do it."

"Okay, but if I die, I'm going to haunting you for the rest of you life." Haverson leveled out, and flew in a semi-straight pattern. Steve heard that ear-piercing lock on fill the canopy.

"I've got tone," he said. "Angel 1, fox 2!" And Aim-9 jolted forward and collided with the Verusan aircraft. A satisfying explosion blocked Miller's view of Haverson; the other plane also lost sight and banked to the right.

The battle continued to rage. Both sides were taking severe losses, and victory seemed impossible.

"Its no use, we can't hold out," said an allied pilot. "Hawk Eyes, requesting permission to tank."

"Negative, Theta 1, we cannot authorize a retreat; if the Verusans win this battle it will allow them to invader further inland."

"Can't you send back up or something? We can't even retreat!"

"Hold on, an emergency transmission just came in from Headquarters." There was a pause over the channel. In that time, six allied planes were downed.

"I've got it, allied Yuke fighters are inbound."

"Attention Osean aircraft, can we give you a hand?" a Yuke Mig-25 pilot asked.

"It sure would be nice," Jacob replied.

"Copy that, hold tight, we're coming in now." Six Mig-25's, seven SU-27's and three F/A-18E's were approaching from the north. They fired on the Verusan aircraft, and the battle took a new turn. Miller took this opportunity to snag his final kill. He spotted another Typhoon, and barrel-rolled downwards. The plane jerked left and right, in a futile attempt to escape. The bogey then pulled into a loop, however, he made a fatal flaw; he had not built up enough speed to recover from it, and as a result his plane stalled out. Unable to react, the Verusan pilot could only wait for his death. Miller fired his last missile. It collided with the Typhoon, and left nothing but tiny fragments.

"Angel 1 snagged his fifth kill and just became an ace!" Haverson announced.

"Alright, Angel 1!" called an allied pilot. "Good for you!"

Soon enough, the battle ended, but at the expense of many brave fighter pilots.

"Good job, you destroyed the enemy landing unit," said Hawk Eyes. "Mission complete; all aircraft RTB."

"Allies its good to be working with you," Theta 4 said to the Yuke pilots.

"The pleasure is all ours; hope to see you guys again," he replied.

"All planes, its time to get on home now," said Haverson.

"The Verusans can come play another day."

* * *

The remaining pilots arrived back at Fort Anderson. Miller landed and taxied his plane back to the hangar. After Jacob and Haverson landed, they were called to the debriefing. Miller looked around; there were not as many pilots as when they left. Forty of them went out, and fifteen of them came back. Again, the commander was there to debrief them.

"Good job; the enemy landing force was destroyed, and a full-scale invasion of Osea was avoided. This can be considered our first victory of the war. However, many pilots were lost during the operation. But we can take comfort in the fact that the enemy took greater losses than we did. The President sent a message to us, thanking you all for your participation in the operation. Dismissed."

* * *

And that's number three. Hope you enjoyed it. Join us some other time for the next chapter.

Credits

James Tobin- Concept

Thomas John- everything else.


	4. Dark Truths and Shattered Skies

Time: 0957 hours

Location: Fort Anderson, Osea

Date: November 22nd 2025

After the debriefing, Miller reported to the base commander as ordered to. He knocked on the office door.

"Come in," the commander said. The door opened, Miller stepped in.

"Oh, Captain Miller, I see you made it back alive; please, sit down." Miller took a seat in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk.

"Can I offer you anything to drink?" the commander asked.

"No thank you, sir; I don't drink alcohol."

"Please, call me Charles." The commander poured a small glass of Belkan whiskey. He stirred the liquid, took a sip and sat back down.

"Tell me, Captain, how was your second mission? I understand you were having some emotional trouble over one of your kills from yesterday."

"It went rather well, sir. I shot down two enemy planes, and it went over nicely."

"That's good," the commander replied. "You're getting use to the realities of warfare."

"Anyway, I suppose you're wonder why I am referring to you as 'Captain'"

"Yes, sir," Miller replied. Although the idea of him being a Captain was nice, it simply wasn't his rank.

"Miller, you are aware of the shortage in our military, correct? Many young people simply aren't accepting the idea of having to join the military."

"Yes, sir, I am fully awair of the situation. But what does that have to do with my rank?"

"Well, in order to fill in the ranks we have promoted you to full-time Captain of your squadron."

Miller was just confused now.

"That's right; you actually skipped a rank. Your squadron's mission qualifications will now include escort missions, large-scale battles, and reconnaissance ops."

"Well, thank you very much, sir," Miller gleefully replied.

"Ah, you can thank high-command for it."

Today just kept getting better and better for Miller; first he was promoted to squad captain, then he led an assault on an enemy landing force and became an Ace, and now he had been promoted to full-time Captain.

"I also heard you snagged your fifth kill today?" the commander asked.

"Yes, sir; it was a Typhoon."

"Well I'll be damned; we've got ourselves an Ace stationed at fort Anderson."

"Thank you very much, sir," Miller said with a smile on his face. He turned for the door when the commander stopped him.

"Oh, and one more thing; take care of my good-for-nothin' son out there. That boy needs some guidance, and I think you'll be the man to smack some sense into him."

Miller's blood boiled at that statement. He had lost a significant amount of respect for the commander.

"Yes, sir," he said coldly and left the room. Haverson was again waiting outside, but Miller walked passed him, rage slowly building within himself.

"What happened?" Haverson asked as Miller walked away. He chased after Steve in an attempt to find out what had gone down between him and the commander.

"Come on, talk to me, Goose." Goose was one of Miller's nicknames back in the day.

"It's the motherfucking base commander. He told me to take care of his 'good for nothing son'; can you believe that?"

"That's what he said about his own son?" Haverson asked.

"I swear to god," Miller replied. He hated it when people under appreciated their children. That kid took out an Admiral Kuznetsov Carrier, and he was good for nothing? Bullshit.

"Trust me, man," Miller continued. "I know what it's like to not be loved by your family, and I can tell you it's not fun."

"So what you're saying is that you don't want him to go through what you did as a child," said Lampert as he approached them from behind.

"So you know about it too?" Miller asked.

"Of course, everyone at the base knows Commander Charles hates his son."

"Well, I wouldn't say hate," Haverson replied.

"I would," Lampert struck back.

"I don't get it, why does he hate him so much?" Miller asked.

"The same reason most people hate their children; he was mistake."

"That's terrible," Miller said as he began to remember his childhood. Miller had also been a "surprise". It was probably the main reason that he was unloved by his family.

"Hey, you two need to get going; there's going to be another briefing in fifteen minutes."

"Thanks, doc," Miller said as he and Haverson walked away.

"It's Marcus!" he jokingly called back.

* * *

Time: 1036 hours

Location: Oured, Osea.

The President was conversing with the Joint Chiefs of Staff about beginning a Campaign against Verusa. The plan called for mobilization of land, sea and air forces, from both Osea, and Yuktobania. They were going to combine ships from the 3rd Osean and 5th Yuktobanian fleets. Osea's 88th airborne division and Yuktobania's 14th Separate Brigade would drop into Verusa and secure a landing point for the main force. Once the forces rendezvous was complete, they would push further inland, and overwhelm the enemy. Simply put, the idea was to sandwich Verusa and force them into a corner.

Sanders walked into the room with a report in his hands. He dropped it on the table, Harling looked up at him.

"What is this?" he asked.

"This is ISAF's report of five recent attacks," Sanders replied. The President opened up the report. There were a couple dozen photos of what were once cities, and were now large smoldering craters. He looked through them; the amount of devastation was unexplainable.

"Mr. President, we need to get you to a safe area." Harling got up from his seat, but he couldn't believe his eyes. There had been catastrophes in the past, but this was absolutely horrifying. Not even the Ulysses meteors were this bad. Secret Service guards escorted them down the hallway.

"These weren't nuclear explosions?" Harling asked.

"No, sir; there were no signs of radiation fallout in any of the areas."

"What is ISAF's plan of action?"

"They are requesting permission to join forces with us," Sanders replied, his voice tense.

"Tell the ISAF's Secretary of Defense to begin mobilizing his troops."

"Get on the horn with Heierlark airbase and tell them to have patrol planes monitor the Eastern boarder every hour for the next two weeks, and go to DEFCON 2; I have a feeling the shits about to hit the fan."

* * *

Time: 2200 hours

Location: ISAF GHQ North Point

Date: November 22nd 2025

Mobius Two, Christopher Pearl, was waiting in the lounge with the members of Mobius Squadron, still in full flight gear. Rainer Liath, otherwise known as Mobius One, was sitting on the other side of the room; he was calm, and collected. No matter how desperate the situation got, Liath was always on top of things. After the war, Mobius squadron expanded, adding four new members. It was a little difficult to maintain balance, but it was well worth it once a plan came together. While it was true that Mobius Squadron were the best pilots in the Independent States Allied Air force (ISAAF), they were not invincible. Just a few hours before this, they were called on a mission to intercept a group of Bombers that had penetrated ISAF airspace. While on the mission, they ran into a group of fighters that had given them quite a run for their money. They had just barely escaped, and the only reason they had to retreat was because they ran out of ammunition.

"What are you thinking about?" Christopher asked to Liath.

"It's those fighters we ran into today. I haven't been in an aerial battle that intense since the Comona Islands rocket launch."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Pearl replied. "It's just another group of targets to destroy."

"You don't think these were Erusian pilots, do you?"

"No way," Liath responded. "Their flying style was totally different from the Erusian's. Not only that, but during the War I never once saw a SU-33."

"Yeah, me either; so who do you think did it?" Pearl asked. Rainer leaned forward.

"Well, there are a few possibilities; one, Yuktobania, two Estovakia, or three, Erusea. The way I see it, it was probably the second choice, being as Estovakia is the only country aside from Yuktobania that uses that Flanker variant. Not to mention Yuktobania supplies us with a lot of our aircraft. We're their biggest customer aside from the Erusians."

"Speaking of Erusea," Pearl began. "Word is that their beginning to mobilize forces to the west."

"Why would they send forces to the west if ISAF is to the east?"

"Did you ever stop to think that their not planning to invade us?" Liath replied.

"But the only significant country to the west is Osea; why would they invade them?"

"I'm not sure; it's strange, yes, but not unlike the Erusians to invade another country for no reason." This was very true. During the Continental War, Erusea's sole purpose for invading ISAF was the fact that they could. ISAF was in a bind after the Ulysses incident, and it was the perfect time for an invasion. Christopher looked out the window, they sky was pitch black. He hated night flying. Although radar was there, Pearl always liked being able to see everything. Rapier squadron was returning from a sortie. He watched as the three planes landed in formation; Rapier squadron was a twelve man squadron. He watched as they taxied their F-14A's into the hangars. A few minutes later, their leader, Jason Hunting, walked into the room, the other two behind him. Everyone in Mobius squadron looked up.

"What happened?" Mobius six asked. Moore simply shook his head and walked away.

"Poor guy," said Rainer as he turned back around. "His wife died last week."

"What a bummer," Mobius nine replied.

* * *

After what seemed like an eternity, a young woman walked out of briefing room door.

"Their ready for you," she said. The Mobius squadron proceeded into the briefing room. The Intel officer was waiting for them, along with SkyEye and the leaders of various ISAF squadrons. Pearl took a seat in the third row, next to his buddy Mark Links, or Mobius 5.  
The Intel officer, Jonathan Rudolph, approached the podium, and began the debriefing.

"Gentlemen, I have some bad news," he said. "It looks like Erusea has grown weary of the "cease-fire" agreement we had during the War, and has consequently re-declared war on the ISAF; those bombers you intercepted were just the beginning; and it gets better. Estovakia is supplying Erusea with weaponry in exchange for an alliance between the two countries. Rumors are starting to spread about Verusa being involved as well."

Liath raised his hand.

"Yes, Rainer?" the officer asked.

"What about the Oseans? I know that their at war with Verusa at the moment; does Erusea have plans for them?"

"We intercepted a transmission from Estovakia to Erusea; it took us a little longer to decipher it because the language is written in an old Estovakian dialect." A screen came up on the monitor of the letter. It read:

_It has become clear of your people's lack of satisfaction with your current situation with the ISAF. We too are in a bit of a quagmire at the moment. As such, we have a proposal to make. Our country is preparing for a full-scale attack on Osea; If you were to help us by invading ISAF, we would supply you with the necessary 'tools' if you will, to make sure that ISAF will be no threat to us. Not only will you get your revenge and restore honor to the mighty Erusea, but it will help us to exact __**our**__ revenge on Osea. We will give you seventy two hours to respond. If the answer is yes, then we will begin sending equipment to Erusea immediately. _

"Well what the fuck does that mean?" Mobius nine asked. Rainer looked back at him and shook his head; a gesture implying 'shut the hell up.'

"It means that Estovakia wants us out of the way when they invade Osea."

"Then we have to make damn sure that the Erusians can't make their move," Rainer said as he stood up. Again, Pearl raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"What did he mean by 'revenge'?"

"During the Emmerian-Estovakian war, Osea supplied the Emmerian air force with most of their planes. The Estovakians took severe losses because of the Emmerian's air-strike capabilities."

"That's stupid," Pearl replied in an irritated voice.

"Never the less, it's their motivation for war, and therefore, it's our responsibility for help our allies."

Suddenly, Christopher heard what sounded like a distant explosion. Then he heard another one, and another one. Another explosion occurred, but this time it was much closer. The intercom beeped, and the base speakers activated.

"Attention all personnel, enemy bombers incoming; aircraft number and type unknown; Mobius squadron, scramble!"

* * *

Time: 2239 hours.

Four Mobius squadron F-22A's rolled out of the hangars. The night sky meant visibility was extremely poor. Christopher looked upward to see the massive formation of B-52B bombers circle overhead.

"Mobius one to control tower, status report?"

"It's not looking good; we've already lost several planes."

"Do we have clearance to take off?" Mobius four asked.

"Affirmative, Mobius squadron has clearance for take off." The engines on the Raptors roared as the squadron accelerated on the runway. As they reached two thousand feet, they broke formation.

"Mobius squadron," SkyEye called over the COMM.

"You have permission to engage any and all hostile aircraft; take em all."

"Copy that," Liath replied. "Listen up everyone; some of our comrades are still on the ground; we have to cover them until they're ready."

"Roger that, boss," the others replied at once. Christopher barrel rolled into ascension as he headed for the first bomber. The gunners fired at him as he got closer. One bullet clipped his plane, meaning he had gotten just a little too close.

"AMRAAM firing sequence initiated," he said as he armed one of his AIM-9's. He moved in closer, bullets still coming at him.

"I've got a lock on… fox two." The missile was let loose from the side of the craft. He pulled away to avoid any pieces of debris that may have awaited him. He circled around to confirm the hit, but to his surprise the bomber had been completely destroyed. He looked below; the ground crews had brought out AA guns. Since the bombers were flying at low altitude, they were easy targets for flak cannons and gun crews. The gunners below decimated the bombers, and even took out some of the fighters. By this time all of Mobius squadron was airborne, decimating enemy fighters without even breaking a sweat. Pearl came around one hundred eighty degrees, attempting to frag a Mig-29. The plane pulled upward and came around to Pearl's tail. He let off a stream of hot lead, but missed all but two shots. With three holes in the Raptor's fuselage, Pearl had no choice but to either down the Fulcrum, or risk being shot down. He took the plane, flipped it on its back, and split-s'd, raising his speed but lowering altitude. He then pulled upward and leveled out with the enemy plane. Pearl switched to guns, and lit up the Mig-29 like a roman candle. It exploded and fell to the earth, where the pilot met his demise.

* * *

To the east, five heavily modified solid black F-35's entered the combat zone.

"Nocturne one to all units, fan out and begin the operation."

"Be careful, the Mobius squadron is here with them; don't let your guard down." The V formation broke and the five fighters accelerated. Nocturne was an experimental mercenary squadron, utilizing high-tech weaponry and technique.

"All Nocturne units activate infrared radar; they'll have nowhere to hide."

"You got it, boss." Their craft had inferred radar, which easily spotted Mobius squadrons F-22's. As the battle was heating up, a flash of yellow light struck Mobius seven's cockpit, killing him instantly, but leaving much of the craft intact.

"Holy hell, what was that?" asked another pilot.

"Mobius seven is down and is not responding!"

"Where'd it come from?"

"Attention all aircraft this is SkyEye, that blast came from the ocean."

"SkyEye, what's going on?" Rainer asked.

"I don't know; we're analyzing the situation now." Just as things couldn't get any worse, more enemy formations began to slip in. Now they were out-numbered and taking losses. Another Mobius aircraft was downed, the pilot killed, craft intact. Christopher pulled his plane to the right. He switched his master arm on, which activated the XMA6 missiles. He had picked up his targets, and fired. Five out of the six missiles hit their targets, the other one spun out of control and detonated over the ocean. As he turned back, one of the black F-35's was hot on his tail. With a well timed Pugachev Cobra, and the inevitable drop in speed, Christopher tricked the enemy pilot, and was now right up his tail-pipe; but this man knew what he was doing. The F-35 pulled a split-s maneuver, and disappeared from radar, due to the stealth on his craft. Although Christopher's craft also had advanced stealth, the enemy was wielding inferred radar, making _his_ stealth completely useless. As such, the black plane was behind him again. Pearl put the F-22 into a high-g left turn, the enemy trailing right behind him. As he turned, he began to black out from the immense amount of pressure being applied to his body. He flipped the plane to the right and as such, the bandit lost sight of him. He pulled into another high-g turn and was now spiking the enemy. He had just one missile left, and he let it loose. He set it to detonate after collision; the Aim-9 logged itself inside the F-35's engine, and detonated, sending shrapnel in all directions and leaving no sign of an ejecting pilot.

It seemed like an eternity passed before things began calming down. The two sides were now on an equal footing, both having an even amount of planes and firepower. Only three of the black F-35's remained.

"Commander, give us our orders," said Nocturne five.

"All Nocturne units retreat, get back to the Siren immediately; we can't afford to loose the whole unit," their leader replied as he turned his plane back east.

"The enemy is retreating!" an ISAF pilot announced.

"Control tower, what do you see?" asked Mark. There was a pause over the radio before the controller replied.

"Affirmative, enemy retreat confirmed, good job; all aircraft have clearance to land."

* * *

After a fifteen minute wait, the Mobius squadron landed, and taxied their planes. They lost two members of their squadron; a devastating loss considering they were also two of the best. They once again found themselves in the briefing room. This time the wait was short, and thank heaven it was because a lot people had died and the pilots wanted answers. Once again, Rudolph approached the podium and began another debriefing.

"I know you're all probably upset, we lost a lot of good pilots today, so I'll just get right to the point. While we were being attacked, several other military installation were destroyed by Erusian and Estovakian fighters. The 3rd fleet has been annihilated, the Comona islands rocket base was destroyed, and Allenfort airbase was also bombed out. We are now at war with Erusea, as well as Estovakia. Starting tomorrow at midday, you will all be assigned various task all around the country. Our Generals will begin drawing up plans for a counter-attack. Go get some rest; dismissed. "

Everyone was getting up, when Rainer was called over by Rudolph.

"I have an important mission for you, Rainer," he said. "We need you to deliver a message to the Oseans about Estovakia invading their country. You and one other Mobius squadron member are to take off for Oured, and deliver the message to Paul Harling. Think you're up for it?"

"Of course; it's a simple mission."

"Good; now go get some rest, the mission begins tomorrow at 0900 hours." That being said, Rainer walked over to Pearl.

"Guess where we're going tomorrow."

* * *

That's it for the fourth one. I felt it was necessary to show how ISAF gets involved in the war, and not just say that they got attacked, so I had to deviate from the main characters for a little bit. I chose Mobius two to be the main focus, because I really want to stray away from the characters from the games. Please review, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Credits

James Tobin- Concept/Ideas

Thomas John- Dialog/Everything else


	5. War Is My Sheppard

Authors note: You'll have to excuse the poor quality of this chapter; I finished writing it at like 5:30 a.m., so some things may be inconsistent, so to speak. It is a little longer and the feel is a little different. The ending is kind of disappointing, so don't expect something spectacular. Anyway, here we go.

* * *

Time: 0305 hours

Location: Fort Anderson, Osea

Date: November 23rd 2025

Angel flight had just returned from their latest assignment. Their mission was to escort Air force One as they transported the President to a "safe zone". Although there were no attacks, and no pilots had been killed, throughout the entire mission everyone was on-edge. Miller had been sweating and cringing the entire time. God-forbid something actually had happened during the mission, he probably would have froze-up. As he climbed out of the cockpit, he accidentally slipped and fell flat on his back. Haverson couldn't stop laughing.

"You prick, that really hurt!" Miller exclaimed as he tried to rub his backside.

"What are you blaming me for?" Haverson replied with joyful tears rolling down his eyes. "I didn't do anything, you're just an idiot." Miller punched him in his side, but Haverson practically laughed himself to death. Jacob chased after Miller.

"Oh, come on, lead," Jacob said.

"It was a little funny, you have to admit; everyone has their stupid moments."

"Yeah, I guess so," Miller replied with a slight small smile on his face.

"Come on, let's go out tomorrow tonight; drinks are on me."

"That certainly sounds good," Miller replied suddenly having an uncharacteristic craving for an ice-cold beer. The two pilots walked over to the barracks. The night was cold, and sticky, and the pavement was wet. They arrived at their rooms, which were across the hall from each other.

"Nite', lead," said Jacob.

"Good night, Jacob." Miller entered his quarters; it was actually a nice little room. There was a bunk-bed, and couch, a small desk, and a little television. There was also a clock right above the entrance. The pilots of Angel flight had the next day off because of their successes in the past two missions, which was good, because they needed rest. They were exhausted from all of the intense areal combat. But the next two weeks were going to be pure hell.

* * *

Time: 0545 hours

The night was long, mostly because of the guilt that plagued Miller. He was killing other men on a daily basis, killing without remorse. He didn't even know who these men we're. He knew he was killing for a just cause, but for some reason, the guilt ate him alive.

"Hey, Michael," Steve whispered.

"What's up, man?" Haverson replied as he leaned over the railing of the top bunk.

"Do you ever feel guilty over the pilots you down?" There was a pause between them. Haverson had yet to think of that himself.

"Not really, and the only reason is because they started the war, and attacked us first."

"Why? Is it bothering you?" he asked back.

"Kinda, but now that you put it that way, I sort of feel better." Haverson smiled at that. He liked comforting people.

"Good, I'm glad you feel better. You should get some sleep."

"Yeah, I'll see you in the morning." Miller turned to his side. Haverson had comforted him somewhat, but not enough. One of the Ten Commandments was "Thou Shall Not Kill." Was this an exception? Was killing for a just cause better? If there was one thing Steven feared, it was Hell. It wasn't really Hell, but what it represented: pain and torture. He had been told that if you sin in your life, you will suffer eternally. Suffering for all of eternity? And for what'; sinning once your life? It seems a little harsh that you should burn forever just because you made some bad choices in your life. Not to mention that you're only alive for about eighty years before you die (at least by Osean standards), and then you're dead forever. It was a confusing subject, and Miller didn't want to spend time on it. He fell asleep minutes later.

* * *

Time: 0735 hours

Location: Reisance Military Base, Wellow

Date: November 23rd 2025

Major Robert Flynn of the Wellan Armed Forces was having a pretty rough day. Word had reached the Prime Minister of an attack on Osea, and as such, at 0446 hours, the Wellan military was placed on high alert. Wellow and Osea were good allies during the Cold war. Osea supplied Wellow with much of their weaponry, and Wellow provided Osea with a wealth of natural resources. Wellow was not a peaceful nation; they had seen their fair share of wars, and they did not take kindly to nations such as Estovakia and Verusa, who were currently showing signs of hostility towards the country. Flynn was leader of the Wellan 106th Tank Battalion, a group of ten Challenger II MBT's, the Wellan military's primary battle tank, as well as seventy soldiers. Flynn was well known within the Wellan Armed Forces for fighting on 

the frontlines with his troops, and having kept casualties in his unit to a minimum. He prided his unit on not only that, but also scoring the most kills in the previous civil war, which lasted from 2016 to 2022. Flynn was a battle-hardened warrior, having no fear of death and willing to sacrifice his life for the lives of his men. He had the upmost faith in them, and they held the same feelings towards him.

Reisance was on Wellow's western shoreline. The local harbor was home to Wellow's 2nd Fleet of the Royal Wellan Armada. Comprised of One Nimitz aircraft Carrier (courtesy of the Osean military), two Iowa class battleships, three Ticonderoga Cruisers, four Arleigh Burke destroyers, five Halifax frigates, and six missile boats, it was the pride of the Wellan Armed Forces. This massive force of ships became known as "The Iron Typhoon", because wherever they went, the brought death and destruction along with them. Admiral Makar Blythe of the 2nd fleet received the nickname "Juggernaut" during the war, because of his brilliance as a strategist, and having never lost a single battle. He was both respected, and feared among both allies and enemies alike. Either way you sliced it, one thing was for sure; Wellow was not to be underestimated.

Flynn looked outward at the sea; the sun was about to come up. He was sitting on top of one of his tanks, sipping a cup of coffee. Flynn was a rather large man. He had a chiseled beard, shaved dirty-blonde hair, and a pair of green eyes that struck fear into the enemy. During the war he was known as "The Wolf" because of the green reflections in his eyes. His second in command, Allen Walker, pulled himself onto the tank, on Flynn's right hand side. Walker was a young lieutenant, who had short brown hair, grey eyes, and was in his late thirties, while Flynn had just turned forty a few days earlier.

"What's up, Rob?" he asked as he lit up a cigarette.

"I'm just watching the sun come up," Rob replied. "It's not very often that we get to see this."

"Yeah, I know," Walker replied back.

"Hey commander, I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Shoot," said Flynn as he sipped his coffee.

"Remember that battle at Nordstown; the one where all of those civilians got caught in the cross-fire?"

"How could I forget?" Flynn asked back. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just… lately I've been feeling… uneasy about it. Do you know what I mean?"

"A lot of people died that day, both soldiers and civilians; I know how you feel, because I felt the same way. Their blood was on my hands; I gave the order to engage the enemy, not you. You shouldn't feel bad about it, you're just a solider, and you're just doing your job. There is no mercy in war, you have to learn to accept that sooner or later; just like sooner or later, every soldier has to stop and ask themselves why their fighting."

"It's just the nature of war," he continued. "It's always been this way."

"Yeah I suppose it is," Walker replied as he inhaled another puff of smoke. Flynn snatched the cigarette from Walker's mouth and flicked it into the harbor.

"You really should stop," said Flynn. "It's bad for your health." He jumped off of the tank, and threw his empty coffee cup away. Walker looked at the pack he had left, but then put it away. He didn't need one so soon.

* * *

Rob was at the shooting range with some of the other soldiers. He took a second to admire his weapon; a G36C with an AG36 grenade launcher; standard in the Wellan military. The gun barrel was a little longer, and a little slimmer, giving it a distinctive look and better accuracy. He entered prone position, and griped the handle on the launcher. He fired off a grenade, and hit his target dead on, right before letting off five busts from the weapon. To his left a female soldier wielding a 50. Cal Barrett fired three shots and hit all of her targets square in the head. The blasts were very loud. Even with the headphones, Flynn could feel his ears start to ring.

"Very impressive," he yelled to her.

"Thanks," she replied. She clicked on the weapons safety, and took off her earphones. Rob did the same. She was a pretty one. Her medium red hair was tied up in a pony-tail. Rob noticed her blue eyes; there was something mesmerizing about them. She looked in her mid thirties.

"The name's Robert Flynn, commander of the 106th tank battalion," he said as he shook her hand.

"Akira Etsuko," she replied. "Sniper for the 88th airborne division."

"Airborne; nice. How's the training for that?" he asked trying to spark a conversation.

"Months of brutal courses, airborne training, having to learn fighting styles from various countries; it gets pretty rough. Not to mention they beat the living shit out of you during most of the training."

"What about you?" she asked back. "What kind of training did you go through?"

"I actually transferred to Yuktobania for special training, and then I came back here for special ops training as well."

"Wow, I've heard the Yukes put their soldiers through relentless courses," she replied, showing much interest in the subject.

"You'd be correct. Sometimes we went sixteen hours without sleep to complete a single course. It was well worth it, but it really does a number on your body. Some of the trainees died during the training; it's not for everyone."

"Wow, that's some intense stuff, I don't think I'd ever be able to do that," she replied.

"Well, you made it into the airborne, that's pretty good too," Flynn replied as he loaded another magazine into his rifle.

"How about a little competition," she said. "Let's see who can get the most headshots in ten seconds."

"That's not very fair," Flynn jokingly replied. "You have that 50. Cal; you'll kick my ass."

"Who said I was using that?" she asked while pulling a G36 from its carrying case. They both went prone and switched to single fire. Akira counted down to one, and they let loose. Ten seconds passed; Flynn had scored seven head shots, Akira had nine.

"Read em' and weep," she said. Rob looked at her and jokingly shook his head.

"You just got lucky," he replied with a smile. Suddenly a memory resurfaced.

* * *

Time: 1457 hours

Location: The Dracut Plains, Wellow

Date: July 21st 2017

Rob was in a fox hole with his friend Justin Rusto. Wellan Raven Eye forces were squaring off against the Wellan Foxhound forces. The Foxhound faction was Wellow's communist party, and the Raven Eye was Wellow's loyalist faction. They were both fighting over control of the government and various territories. Among those territories were the Dracut Planes; an essential strategic position for either of the two sides. Around them were other members of fire team Foxtrot, Flynn's company at the time. He blind-fired his weapon at the bunkers; they were holding back the Raven Eye forces. He looked back at the others. The fields were being bombarded with Mortar shells; entire squads were decimated. Rob looked to his right; a tank had been hit with a mortar, killing the crew as well as anyone unfortunate enough to be around at the time of the explosion.

"Damnit, we're never going to advance this way," said Rusto. "Flynn, get on the horn and ask for an air strike." Robert took out his radio and began to talk.

"HQ, HQ, do you read me? This is fire team Foxtrot; we need an air strike on the bunkers."

"Uh, negative Foxtrot, we are unable to sent support at this time; you'll have to make due."

"Damn it!" Rob exclaimed as he threw the radio to the ground. "Do we have any RPG's?" another soldier asked. Robert looked around the field. He noticed a Javelin missile on the ground next to a dead body a couple yards back.

"I see a Javelin; but I'll need some cover fire to get to it."

Are you nuts!?" Rusto asked. "If you show even an inch of your body, those gunners will tear you to shreds!"

"It's either that, or we can stay here and die," Rob replied as he jumped from the hole.

"God damn it; covering fire!" Rusto yelled as he let off a hot stream of lead. Flynn ran as fast as he could, bullets whizzing past him as he went. One bullet clipped him in his left shoulder and he fell on his side. He pulled himself to the Javelin, and picked it up. He took cover in another hole, and mounted the weapon on his right shoulder. The missile was locked, he fired. A single missile was released. It impacted the bunker from the inside, killing the gunners and collapsing the bunker as well.

"Alright! We have an opening!" Rusto yelled. "Lets got!"

After an intense battle and many lives lost, Raven Eye forces managed to break through the Foxhound's line of defense, and take their base camp as well. Rusto approached Flynn, who was being patched up.

"Flynn, you are one crazy son of a bitch," he said. "And one hell of a soldier; we couldn't have done it without you."

"Thanks, man," Rob replied. "Of course, I am after all the best shot in the military," he said jokingly.

"Ah you just go lucky," Rusto gleefully replied.

* * *

Present day

"Hey, you still with me?" Akira asked as Flynn snapped back.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "I was just remembering something."

"What was it?" she gently asked.

"A battle from the civil war," Flynn replied.

"You fought in the war?" she asked. "What was it like?"

"I really don't want to talk about it," he replied with a deep look of sadness.

"Oh… I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"Don't mention it," Flynn replied. "Well, I've got to run; I have to make sure my unit is ready to go. Their saying some thing big is about to happen." Flynn was standing up when Akira stopped him.

"Wait!" she said. "Will I see you again?"

"Probably; but I can't say for certain." And with that said, Flynn walked away, Akira watching him every step of the way. Some thing about him intrigued her. She couldn't put her finger on it, but whatever it was, she liked it.

* * *

Time: 1342 hours

Location: Fort Anderson Osea

Date: November 23rd 2025

Miller lay asleep in his bed; he needed it. This would be his last day off for a while. As he lay there, he began to think. What would Verusa have to gain from attacking Osea? Based on what he had learned during high school, the last time Osea and Verusa had any sort of contact was way back in 1785; and even then there was no war. There was a sinking feeling in his gut; something bad was going to happen… and it was happening soon. The question was… when?

Haverson waltzed into the room with a bottle of water, whistling a tune of some kind, and Jacob trailing behind him. He looked at Miller, who had a very blank stare on his face.

"Yo, Steve, what's wrong?" Haverson asked. Miller snapped back, realizing his squadron mates in the room.

"I don't know," he replied. "While I was sleeping I had a premonition… something bad is going to happen… and soon." There was a pause between them.

"I've been having that feeling too, lately," Jacob replied. "I don't know what it is, but I know it's not good."

Then, another pilot ran to the door. "We're under attack!" he yelled. "Come on, we have to go!"

"Well speak of the devil," said Haverson.

* * *

Angel team suited up and ran for their planes. Miller jumped into his Viper-Zero, once again rushing through the start up. The engines came to life, and Angel team rolled out of the hangar. Other aircraft were taking off as well.

"Control tower, what's going on?" Haverson asked.

"November city has come under siege from enemy forces. We're the only unit close enough to make an intercept."

"What's the enemy packing?" Jacob asked.

"The enemy hit the shore a few hours ago, and stormed into the city. They're packing tanks, howitzers, and of course, attack planes."

"Do we have clearance for takeoff?" Miller asked.

"Ten four," the controller replied. "Move to runway three and hold."

"Copy that." As they pulled their planes to the runway, allied Tornado GR 3's were taking off. A squadron of F-22A's pulled out of the hangars.

"Now there's a fighter I want to fly," said Jacob as he admired the Raptors.

Five minutes later, Angel team finally arrived on the runway.

"Angel team, takeoff clearance has been granted." The three planes moved down the pavement, and took to the skies.

"Angel team, lift off confirmed; Omega team takeoff in sixty seconds." Miller looked around. The sky was clouded. There were fewer aircraft this time around, and sure enough, fewer were going to return. There were F-15C's, Tornado GR3's, F/A-18F's, A-10A's and of course, the Raptor jets. There was only one other squadron of Vipers, the Katana squadron. The squadron only had two members, due to the casualties sustained during the last sortie. They were the quiet ones in the group and usually only talked to Hawk Eyes, or the ground control teams. Miller looked off to the distance; smoke was rising from one area.

"This is Scorch to all units; I've confirmed a burning city up ahead."

"This is Hawk Eyes to all units; our ground forces stationed at the city have taken severe casualties from the invaders, we have to support them."

"Very well; all units max thrust, let's go!" Haverson said. Angel squadron was packing Unguided Bombs; it would be perfect for this operation.

"Alright," said Miller, as he snapped on his mask. His voice was quite serious. "Haverson, with me; we'll do a pass and take out some of the vehicles; Jacob, you're flying top cover; make sure you keep their interceptors off our tail, got it?"

"Roger that," he replied. "I won't let a single one through!"

"Copy that; let's go!" Jacob broke away from the others, and began to climb. Miller and Haverson dove for the enemy ground forces. With a flip of a switch, they armed the bombs. Explosions could be seen on the ground. Practically the entire city was on fire. Miller spotted a rather large contingent of T-72 tanks outside the city with some SAM's in the mix. A force of Osean M1A2 Abrams tanks was attempting to hold them back. Their attempts were met with an onslaught of fire from twenty T-72's.

"Ripper, when we make our pass, drop only one bomb; we have to be conservative on ammunition."

"Copy that, switching to single fire." Ten seconds later, they released the weapons. Two tons of fiery death impacted the battalion, decimating a good percentage of their forces.

"Attention, allied planes overhead, thanks for the support; we'll handle the rest of them."

"Roger that, we'll leave it to you," Haverson replied. Miller spotted another group of tanks. He would take them on himself.

"Ripper, break formation; there's too many of them for us to handle together; if we take them on separately we could really help the guys on the ground."

"Copy that; Angel two, breaking off." Haverson broke to the left, and went after a group of howitzers that were pounding the ground forces, as well as the city. He circled around to hit them, but was picked up by a SAM. He saw the missile close in on his plane. Haverson whipped the plane into a reverse-half, which required a slight drop in speed, but gave him better maneuverability, and as such, the missile was evaded. When he pulled around, he released another bomb, which decimated the howitzers, and hampered the enemy's fire power. By this time, almost every section of the city was burning. Explosions filled the skies as aircraft viciously chased after one another. The Osean ground forces were desperately outnumbered, struggling to maintain control. Civilian casualties were sky-rocketing; the enemy was merciless. Even with the help from Angel team and the other allied planes, things were not looking good.

* * *

A single orange SU-30MKI ascended into the battle zone with only one goal; adding to his kill-count.

"Let's see," he said in a maniacal voice. "How many will I kill today?" The man looked around, and spotted an Osean F-22A going after another a plane.

"Oh, I've never shot down a Raptor before; you will be my first."

"Let's do this," his back-seater replied. The Flanker pilot descended into a barrel roll. His navigator activated the inferred radar, and began to track the poor Raptor pilot.

"You've got about a second to live, pal." The pilot of the F-22A noticed she was being spiked, and turned around to see what was going on. When she turned, she saw the orange glow of the enemy Flanker.

"There's no way that guy can see me," she said. But the glow of the other plane was the last thing _she_ ever saw. A long-range missile came in from the distance and nailed the Raptor's tail, causing it to spin out of control and slam into a building.

"Ha, you're slow," said the Flanker pilot.

"Well, Albert," his navigator said. "We can mark that down as our first kill on a Raptor."

"You can say that again." Albert checked his radar and saw one enemy plane chasing after another one. It was right above him. He looked up and saw an enemy F-2A chasing a JAS-39C. The Viper let off a stream of bullets, and destroyed the enemy Gripen.

"You're next," Albert decided as he pulled up to intercept the Viper. Miller had just finished destroying another ground unit, and was now out of bombs.

"Angel team; status report."

"This is Angel two, everything's smooth on my end."

"This is Angel three; I've got a fighter at my six. Damnit I can't shake him off!"

"Hold on, Angel three," said another pilot. "I'll clear your six o'clock." The allied Tornado pilot performed a low yo-yo and got up the Flaker's tailpipe. The enemy pilot was no rookie, and pulled into a stall turn, forcing the Tornado out in front, and letting loose with a barrage of bullets. The plane exploded and began to spiral.

"You're mine now," Albert announced. Just as he was going to pull the trigger, another missile came from the front, and nailed his fuselage, killing his navigator.

"What was that?" Jacob asked. Two ISAF F-22's broke formation and began to destroy Verusan aircraft.

"Who the hell are those guys?" another pilot asked. Miller took a closer look at his radar; their I.D. signals were that of ISAF interceptors. But then he noticed the emblem on their craft.

"Oh my god," he said in awe. "Those are Mobius squadron fighters…"

"You're kidding… really?" asked Hawk Eyes. By this time the Verusan forces had lost a considerable amount of power. Their ground unit had been decimated and a large number of their fighters were destroyed. Victory belonged to Osea… but at a high cost in lives. Almost all of November city was annihilated.

"Calling all Osean pilots, this is the ISAF 118th Tactical fighter Wing; we heard you needed some assistance."

"Well, we appreciate the help," an Osean pilot replied.

"But how did you know what was happening here?" Haverson asked.

"More importantly, how did you arrive so quickly?"

"It's a long story," Liath replied. After a short pause, a message came through the radio. It was mostly static, but the message itself was clear.

"You haven't seen the last of me," Albert announced in an angry voice right before the transmission was cut off.

"I really don't like the sound of that," said Miller.

* * *

Number five, done. Sorry the ending was so shity. I've been working on this chapter for a long time and I really just wanted it over with. The next few chapters will be better, and the War is really about to heat up. And as always, I don't care if you agree with some of my decisions, but what I do care, you enjoyed the chapter, you have a great day, and I'll see you next time. UPDATE 8/9/08: I noticed a significant amount of people are reading this. I thank you ever so much. I would like to know what you think of the story thus far. Please review, and tell me if there is anything that needs improvement.

Credits

James Tobin: Concept/Ideas

Thomas John: Dialogue/Events.


	6. At The Crack of Doom

Authors Note: This is where things get good. Mobius Squadron meets Angel Squadron, and we get a look at some of the villains for once. This will probably be the best chapter so far (and that is a huge probably). Let's get started, shall we?

* * *

Time: 1600 hours

Location: Fort Anderson, Osea

Date: November 23rd 2025

Angel flight landed, taxied, and proceeded to the debriefing. Miller caught a glimpse of Mobius One as he taxied his F-22. He had these green eyes, and semi-long black hair, where as Miller had generic short brown hair, and brown eyes. Mobius One's wingman looked a bit different from an average pilot. He had red eyes. Everything else was average, but the eyes were the strangest thing he had ever seen in an Air Force pilot. He and Mobius One walked over to the hangar; Miller did the same. Haverson and Jacob were already seated. Miller noticed that once again, fewer pilots were there. When they left there were thirty pilots. Now, less than fifteen remained. If they kept on like this, the entire force would be wiped out. Sure, they were winning the battles, but they were losing too many planes in the process. Which was odd, considering Osea had the largest Air Force in the world; one would think that they would have a solid training program. But maybe that wasn't it. Maybe the Verusans were simply _that_ good.

Steve noticed something this time around. The enemies today had a different flying style from the ones they had encountered a few days ago. And what happened to that mysterious squadron of Wyverns? Based on Verusa's location, the route that they would have to take in order to reach November City would just be ridiculous. Not only that, how could they launch two full-scale offensives in such a short amount of time? The country closest to November City was Leasath. Now _they_ wanted Osea dead as well? What did Osea do to piss everyone off so much? Now they had Verusa attacking from one side, Leasath from another, and on top of that, rumors began to spread about hostilities from Estovakia. It figures as much. They completely destroyed the Emmerians, and now they think they can take on a Superpower like Osea. The Stovies could best be described as over-confident; they never knew when to stop. Just as Emmeria had reclaimed their territory and Anea was finally at peace, Estovakia launched another large-scale offensive. Which sparked an even bigger question; how the hell did they amass another army after being decimated just days before? The Emmerians lost everything. Kheshed Island is the only thing they have left… again.

Steve was sitting in the third row. To his left sitting in another section was the Katana Squadron. The two members, Ruth Valentine, and Sam Webster were sitting together, silent. Those two we're quite mysterious. Katana squadron as a whole was quite enigmatic. The details of their first two sorties were declassified only one week prior to the war. Miller didn't quite believe all that the information was there and the information that was Miller thought was not to be believed. Katana squadron mainly operated in conjunction with Special Forces and as such their activities were cloaked in secrecy. While reading, Miller noticed large inconsistencies as well as large spans of time where crucial information was 

suspiciously absent. Aside from their names, not much else was known about them. Who were these pilots?

Commander Charles entered the hangar, and Miller's train of thought ended. He found himself ripped from his inner monologue and once again had come to the cold reality that there was a war to fight. His fleeting notions of suspicion over Katana squadron left him and he snapped back to attention. The commander hesitated at first, but then began as usual.

"As you all know, we we're able to repel an enemy task force from November City. However, the casualties sustained from the attack were the greatest we've seen since the Circum-Pacific War. It has been confirmed, that the force was a Leasath battalion, and we are now fighting a two-front war. That orange SU-30 that you encountered was an elite ace pilot from the Aurelia-Leasath war. However, Yuktobania, Wellow, and the ISAF have sided with us, and we are determined to put an end to this, before it can expand."

'Oh yeah, like that's going to work,' Miller thought. When was the last time a war was put to an end in short order? Never, that's when.

"Some of you are probably wondering why Mobius one and two arrived on the scene so quickly," Charles continued.  
"These two were on a mission to inform our president about a rumored invasion by Estovakia. But before they could make it to Oured, the president had already been evacuated. After they landed, they had been informed about the attack on November City, and subsequently volunteered to help you boys out."

"Yeah, fat lot a good that did!" Jacob announced. Charles cringed, he wore a look both of agreement and disappointment, Miller could tell that Charles knew that Jacob was right. He let out a long sigh.

"Yes… we did take a great amount of casualties…" Charles continued, "However, I think that we can recover from this and form an effective counter-attack."

"What counter-attack?" Jacob cut in, "We would only be prolonging the inevitable. If you haven't noticed, fewer and fewer of us keep coming back. At this point there isn't much we can do; they seem to have an endless supply of troops. We might as well be throwing rocks and sticks at them."

"Jacob calm the fuck down!" Haverson barked. "Yeah it's true, shits hit the fan right now, but you know what? Your constant whining isn't fucking helping! You might as well be holding up a big ol' sign with a target that says _"Please shoot me now I give up!"_ It's no wonder we keep losing because every pilot here seems to be as fucking whinny as you!"

"Michael settle down." Miller said, cold as ice.

"Fuck you!" shot Haverson as he stormed out of the room. Jacob started to get up to go after him but Miller grabbed him. "Just let him go, he's under a lot of stress. Let him cool off. After all he's been flying for almost three days without rest. It's hard on all of us."

The debriefing went on as usual except no one dared to say a word. Charles suggested that any pilot that felt over worked was to see a stress counselor; for Haverson this was mandatory.

* * *

Time: 0000 hours.

Location: Unknown

Date: November 23rd 2025.

General Kristovonich of the Estovakian Armed Forces was looking outward at his invasion force. It was a massive army that annihilated all in its path. He would lead this force to hell and back, for the glory of Estovakia. It was the force that had defeated Emmeria, and the one that would defeat Osea as well. Kristovonich had long grey hair, a small beard, and blue eyes. He also wore a long brown trench coat that was open at all times. He was unusual for a General. Next to him were his officers. Hans Leipen, a former Belkan commander known for his cunning and insight. Lyn Florence, a tank commander who earned her reputation during the Estovakian civil war. Grey McLangston, a former Osean field Marshal who was exiled due to his harsh tactics and several accounts of mass murder, not to mention his drive for victory no matter how many civilians died in the process. And lastly was Raymond Gearheart, a Yuktobanian General who defected to Osea and was versed in the tactics of both nations which made him an invaluable ally. They were the best the world had to offer. Kristovonich had spent the last ten years finding these people. He had been planning this for some time; but now they were finally ready. He approached the microphone, and began his invasion speech.

"Attention, proud Warriors of the glorious nation of Estovakia… in a few hours, we will embark on a noble crusade, to destroy the vile Osean Federation that has plagued us for so long. Many shall remember your sacrifice should you fall in glorious battle. For years Osea has been a cancer to the world; spreading their influence and medaling in other peoples affairs. They will pay for what they have done. But… should you fail; your sacrifice shall be for naught. Your families will become subjugated by the Osean oppressors. Soon we shall celebrate our victory that has been denied us for so long. For years they have ignored, raped and pillaged us; but on this day, we shall be ignored no longer, the world will know our true power. Today is a day that the world will not soon forget… Today is a day, where we shall never again be looked down upon! I only have one request… and that is; die when you can't do anymore damage!"

Thunderous cheers and applause came from the crowd of angry soldiers. Some were waving the Estovakian flag. They were a vicious killing machine, who would strike down all in their path. While Estovakia and Belka invaded Osea and Wellow, Erusea was going to strike the ISAF, while Verusa and Clavis would take care of Yuktobania and Sotoa, and Leasath would deal with Aurelia. It was going to be a massive blitz, and the enemy would be completely caught off guard. They would have no mercy on any of them; all would be killed.

Kristovonich saw the Emmerians as no threat, and as such, no action would be taken against them. They way he saw it, they weren't worth wasting recourses on. The forces were loaded onto the ships, and sent off to Osea and Wellow, where they would fulfill their destiny.

Kristovonich was on the bridge of the Flagship Ragnarock, looking out at the sea. He was going into battle with his troops, old-school style of warfare.

"Captain," he said. "Set a course for Verusa; there's something I have to deal with, myself."

"Yes, sir," the Captain replied. The fleet changed course, and was now in its way to Verusa.

No one on Earth knew what was going to happen, nor would they expect the mayhem that would unfold in the next few days. The events of the next week would change the world forever.

* * *

Time: 0746 hours

Location: Reisance Military Base, Wellow

Date: November 24th 2025

As Flynn got into his gear after his shower, he turned on the television. Lindsey Markowitz was reporting live from Yuktobania, where the Yukes were mobilizing their forces for a push into Verusa. T-90 tanks rolled down the streets of Cinigrad, while Yuke soldiers with AK-103's stood on top of the tanks, and  
MI-24's Hind helicopters flew overhead. A group of SU-37's flew over the city. All of this was an attempt to show off their best weaponry, and prove that this was no joke. Yuktobania was fully prepared for their invasion. Just earlier that day, Wellow, Aurelia and Sotoa, had sided with them and Osea in the war effort. Allen walked into the room, newspaper in hand.

"Check this out," he said as he flattened the paper on the table. The headline of the paper read: _"Estovakia, Verusa, Belka, Erusea, Clavis and Leasath form militaristic alliance, Born of the Ruins."  
_Robert started at the headline with suspicious eyes. Six against six, it was an even fight. But Flynn questioned the Sotoans. They usually stayed out of world affairs, but apparently they wanted a piece of the action. Wellow was prepared to go to war, but Robert questioned the loyalty of the Sotoans and the Aurelians. They seemed like the kind of countries that would have backed out if things got to rough.

"I'm not worried about those other countries so much as Estovakia," said Flynn.

"Why is that?" Walker asked. "Those countries are plenty powerful as well."

"Think about it," Flynn replied. "Estovakia is on the verge of becoming a Superpower; they've built up their military to unprecedented heights, and their economy is recovering at a rapid pace; soon their going to surpass Osea _and _Yuktobania."

"So, do you really thing that they're going to attack?" asked Walker. Flynn looked up at him.

"Oh, undeniably," he replied. "They have enough fire power to take on us _and _Osea at the same time. They are going to attack; I just don't know when."

Flynn changed the channel. Gerald Newman was on the scene at Cape Landers, where Osean ground forces were being loaded onto ships for an invasion of Verusa. M1A2 Abrams tanks were loaded onto hovercraft, and soldiers with XM8 Carbines were spread far and near. There was a large fleet of fifteen ships a few yards out. Osea was not going to take military action against anyone else at the moment. Sometimes Flynn wished he could transfer to the Osean military, but he had sworn allegiance to Wellow, and he was not about to abandon her in a time of war. Even though Wellow was not officially at war, their government was still on Red Alert status. Flynn looked at the clock, and saw that it was nearing eight o'clock.

"We have to get going," he said as he turned off the television. "General Lourayous is making an announcement today." That being said, the both of them walked to the mess hall. The announcement was going to be given at the courtyard; the mess hall was closer than the barracks.

Five minutes of walking, and the two had finally arrived at the mess hall. When they walked through the doors, Rob noticed that woman, Akira sitting at one of the tables looking at a magazine. He was floored, because now she had let her hair down. It was still pretty short, but it made her looks so much better. She also had a tiny bit of mascara on. She had a navy blue bandana tied around her head, underneath her hair.

"I'm gonna go get something to drink," said Walker. Akira looked up, and when she saw Rob, her face lit up like a firefly.

"Robert!" she called. "Come sit with me." Flynn walked over and sat on the other side of the table. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Well, General Lourayous is making an announcement today, so I thought I would come here before he gets started."

"My mother would tell people that a politician is a man who can talk for hours and never actually say anything," Flynn continued.  
"If that's the case, General Lourayous can run for governor and become King of the Universe by mid-day." Akira laughed at Flynn's remarks. Soldiers in the Wellan Armed Forces all agreed that Lourayous talked way to fucking much.

"Anyway, what do you think the enemy is going to do?" she asked.

"Well, they're definitely going to attack, there's no doubt about it; hell, this is going to be a World War." Akira's face painfully twisted as anxiety set in.

"Don't worry," said Flynn as he put his hand on her shoulder. "Everything's going to be fine. We have two million well-armed, well-trained soldiers, including you and me. If those bastards want to fight, bring it on. We're Wellans, and we don't fear anyone." Akira listened to his words. There was something about him that made her comfortable. His touch made her feel warm. She may have liked this man.

"Yeah, I'm not afraid of them," she said. "And even if we do go down, we're gonna give em' hell before we do."

"That's what I'm talking about," said Flynn as he grinned at her words. Allen walked over with three bottles of water.

"One for you," he said as he handed one to Akira. "And one for your lady-friend," he said as he gave one to Rob. Rob went to hit him as Akira smiled and giggled. Walker jumped out of the way as Rob jokingly tried to whack him. Then Allen came back and patted Flynn on the back. Rob looked Akira in her eyes, she did the same. He couldn't tear himself from her gaze, and she felt the same way.

"Wait a minute," said a grinning Walker. "I think there's something going on between you two…" Rob smiled and shook his head. Akira also snapped back.

"I'm keeping my eye on you two," said Allen as he sat down.

* * *

Time: 0900 hours

Location: Davos, Verusa

Date: November 24th 2025

Gregory Noland, Leader of Verusa, was rather appalled by Kristovonich's sudden change in plan of attack. Verusa's original goal was to launch into Osea; that had been changed to Yuktobania, seeing as the last attempt had failed. Kristovonich was in Verusa that day inspecting Noland's forces.

"General, I really wish you would reconsider this," said Noland, mentioning the sudden change in battle plan. "One more attack would have caught them off guard and we would at least have had a foothold on the country."

"I am fully aware of this, Noland," Kristovonich replied in a cold tone. "But, my soldiers want a crack at Osea, to take vengeance on those traitorous dogs."

"I really wish you would tell me what they did to piss you off so much," said Noland. Up until now, he had been kept in the dark as to why Kristovonich wanted to attack Osea. Noland, on the other hand, had his own reasons. Kristovonich began to talk.

"Well, after the last war ten years ago, word had reached Osea about the Nimbus Missile project and the Aigaion. They quickly came to us about building an Aigaion class Cruiser for the OADF. Of course, Osea wanted something a little more modern, so we designed the Aigaion II, for just that reason. We built them three ships; the Harpy, the SkyKing, and the Bloodhound, all of which performed phenomenally well during testing."

"So why are you mad at them?" asked a confused Noland.

"They took credit for our designs!" Kristovonich exclaimed. "Osea started bragging about _their_ new designs; and after the exchange was complete, Osea never spoke to us again and. We made no money out of the deal."

"That is why we are fighting," he finished. Noland questioned Kristovonich's mental state. The man was clearly off his rocker, but he wanted to invade an entire country just because they lost some money?

"It was just a little money loss," said Noland.

"Do you know how much it cost to build a Heavy Command Ship? Fifty billion dollars." Noland's eyes widened.

"And they didn't pay you a cent of that money?" he asked.

"No; it was a joint operation using both Osean and Estovakian technology, we both spent money; the only difference is that now Osea is making all of the money from selling the designs."

Kristovonich walked around the fortress, inspecting Noland's forces. T-80 tanks, M113 APC's, Hind Helicopters, etc. Noland had also spent a significant amount of time building his army. Kristovonich's fleet was just outside Davos's harbor. The General finished his inspection, and was about to leave.

"Very good, Noland; I'll be on my way now."

"Oh, and one more thing." Kristovonich whipped out a Colt Single Action Army and shot Noland in the chest.

"You have failed me for the last time, you arrogant pig," he said as he kneeled down. Estovakian soldiers roped down from UH-60 helicopters. Kristovonich sighed as he got up. Verusan soldiers stood in shock.

"You all work for me now," said Kristovonich in a rather hostile voice. "Get your asses onto the ships, or you will all be killed." That being said, he proceeded to his personal chopper and returned to the flagship. The Estovakian troops paused for a second before their leader spoke.

"You heard the General, let's go! Get your gear stowed and make it quick!" The Estovakian troops aimed their rifles at the Verusans, who were practically wetting their pants as they rushed pack up their gear.

When Kristovonich returned to the Ragnarock, he consulted Gearheart about his new task.

"General, since you know these lands better than anyone else, I am leaving you in charge of the Verusans."

"Thank you, sir," Gearheart replied. "I promise I will not let you down."

"I know you won't," said Kristovonich as he placed his hand on Gearheart's shoulder. "I trust no one more that I trust you. Lead these men to victory." Gearheart nodded his head, and got onto the chopper. Now the fleet was back on course, and ready kill.

* * *

Time: 1239 hours

Location: Fort Anderson, Osea

Date: November 24th 2025.

Jacob was watching television in his room when Haverson walked in. He looked up; Haverson wore a look of great disappointment.

"Look, man; I'm sorry about what happened yesterday. I've been under a lot of stress; I didn't mean what I said."

"It's alright, man," Jacob replied. "The war has been hard on all of us; if I was in your position, I probably would have done the same thing."

"So, you're not mad at me?" Haverson asked.

"No. Why would I be mad at something like that? We're at war, its normal for pilots to act that way." Jacob's reassuring words were like a breath of fresh air for Michael. For the last four days it had been nothing but bad news. It was hard to believe that all of this _had_ happened in a four-day period. Little did they know, it was only going to get worse.

Steven walked into the room, with something sticking out of his pocket. Haverson noticed it the picture, and was intrigued.

"Hey, man; what's in your pocket?" he asked. Miller looked down, and pulled out the picture.

"Oh, it's a picture of my girlfriend, Gina." Haverson was shocked.

"You never told me about her," he said as he went to grab the picture. He looked at it. Michael couldn't believe it. Her hair was curly and brown, and her eyes were a faded shade of green. Her skin looked soft.

"Dude, she's beautiful…" he said. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the photo. That was when Miller snatched the picture from his hands.

"This right here is the only reason I fight," he said. "If something ever happened to her, I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

"That's why I fight; to protect her, no matter what."

"Dude, how come you never told me about this?" asked Haverson.

"I just didn't think that there was ever a need to bring her up," Miller replied. Gina was a secret. He never really talked about her, even though he had been dating her since high school. He decided to call her. He walked back to his room, and dialed her number. There was a pause.

"Hello?" a female's voice came through.

"Gina?" he asked.

"Oh my god, Steven!" she cried. "Where have you been, what the hell is going on out there?"

"I've been fighting my ass off for the last four days, the Verusans are behind the attacks," Steven replied.

"I know that," she replied. "But people are saying that we've lost a lot of soldiers, and I was worried sick about you. Oh, I'm so glad that you're okay!"

"Look, Gina, I need you to do something for me," said Miller.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Pack your things, and get as far away from Osea as possible."

"But why? We're safe as long as the Marines can mobilize in time."

"No! You're not safe there; as long as you are there, you are in danger."

"Okay, but where should I go?" she asked, panic becoming clear in her voice.

"Go to Directus, in Ustio; you'll be safe there."

"But Ustio was destroyed twenty years ago," she replied.

"Directus is still a functioning area within those boarders. Just, please, go there and stay low for a while. Please! I don't want anything to happen to you." There was a pause over the phone.

"Okay, I'll go," she finally said.

"Okay; thank you. I don't think you know what it would do to me if something ever happened to you."

"You better stay alive too," she said. "I love you."

"I love you too; call me when you get there and I'll see you soon." The call ended, and Steve sat down, now he felt a little better now. Ustio was the last place that the enemy would think to look for her, or anyone else for that matter. He prayed to god that the enemy didn't attack before she got there. Unfortunately, the enemy was closer than he would have ever thought.

* * *

And so concludes number six. Please review and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. See you next time.

Credits

James Tobin (Superking 9292) Concept/Ideas

Thomas John (Me) Dialog/Events


	7. All Out War

Authors Note: This chapter sucks. In fact, it is probably one of the worst ones I have written. I am going to edit it later, but for now, this is the best I can come up with.

* * *

Time: 0855 hours

Location: North West Osea

Date: November 25th 2025

The day had finally arrived. No one thought it would happen so soon, but it did. Estovakia launched a full-scale attack on Osea. With most of the military stationed near the south, the Oseans were completely caught off guard. Estovakian troops swarmed and destroyed everything in their wake. Using blitzkrieg tactics, the enemy quickly established a frontline, and began to push into the country. The Osean military was scrambling to re-route their forces. Airstrikes temporarily delayed the enemy, but in the long run it was completely useless. Kristovonich had executed his plan flawlessly. His plan to use Verusa as a tool against Osea worked to perfection. The Oseans we're expecting another attack near the south, and when Estovakia invaded from the north, they faced little to no resistance. At first, some outposts put up a fight, but were quickly silenced by Estovakian bombers. It was nightmare that kept getting worse by the hour.

Paul Harling was in the west, in an underground bunker. There were no windows, just concrete, a table, and few recess lights.

"What action have we taken so far?" Harling asked concerning the invaders.

"Sir, we are currently re-routing troops to the north, but it's not going well. Some of the convoys got caught in a snow storm on the way," said Sanders.

"What about the airborne divisions?" Harling asked. "Surely they've been able to combat the invaders?"

"Actually Mr. President, most of the airborne troops we sent in were wiped out. The enemy has large amounts of heavy armament, and without support from the Army, the airborne pretty much stood no chance."

"God damn it," said Harling as he sat down. They had been caught with their heads up their asses, and this was the consequence. Every second they wasted, the Estovakians would push further inland, and more people were going to die. Something had to be done soon, or the enemy would overrun the country.

"How long will it take before the nearest battalion can get there?" Harling asked.

"At the enemy's current rate of advancement and the terrain the troops have to cover, I'd say about three days."

"Can't we load the troops onto Transport planes and airlift them to the north?"

"Hmm… that might actually work; we could also bring in heavy armor that way," said Sanders.

"Very well, Mr. President; the nearest airbase is Fort Anderson; we'll have the nearest unit go there and get picked up by the Transport planes."

Eight C-5 Galaxies took off from Apito International Airport, and set off for Fort Anderson, and were being escorted by a group of F-15S/MTD's. Things were dire in Osea, and it wasn't going to well in the allied countries either. Yuktobania was also caught off guard, and was taking fearsome amounts of casualties. Wellow was holding out well, and the situation was bad for the ISAF. Aurelia and Leasath were in a stalemate, with intense fighting, but zero advances by either country. Sotoa was the only one fairing any well. They had repelled the attack from Clavis, and even managed to establish a frontline in Clavin territory. Born of the Ruins tactics seemed minutely timed. They didn't give any of the allied countries a second to react. It was a world-wide battle; one that would not soon be over.

* * *

Time: 1100 hours

Location: Fort Anderson

Miller watched from the side as the third Transport plane landed; now there were only five more to go. Just about an hour ago, a large battalion of Osean Army troopers arrived at the base, but most of the pilots had been unaware of their purpose for being there. Most of them assumed that the troops were going to be moved to the north to meet the enemy; and they were right. By some fluke, Miller's brother, Nathan was assigned to the unit that had arrived, and he decided to go see him. After looking around for a good twenty minutes, he found him.

"Hey, Steven, over here!" Nathan called as he noticed him approaching. He grasped Steve, and let him go.

"How's it going little brother?" Nathan asked. "I heard you've been doing really well, and that you became an ace?"

"Wait, you actually heard stories about me?" he asked.

"Of course; a lot of people are talking about how you and your flight drove off the two attacks."

"Well, the others helped as well," Steve replied.

"Yeah, but they're no aces, now are they?" Nathan asked. Nathan was significantly taller than Steve, and didn't have hair.

Another Transporter landed. Steven looked up and saw the escort planes circling around. He was also quite fond of that F-15 variant. The F-15S/MTD was originally a test aircraft, built to study air combat maneuvers and the effects of vectored thrust. It was also a prime opportunity for Osea to test their new ACTIVE system, and build a plane that could rival the Yuktobanian SU-37. However, the aircraft performed so well during test flights, that it was actually deployed for combat. It was one of the OADF's crowning achievements, and along with the F-22A, was a symbol of Osea's air dominance. If Miller couldn't fly a Terminator, the F-15S/MTD would be his second pick.

The final Transport plane landed. Miller said his goodbyes to his brother, and walked back to the hangar. The Transporters took off, and once again, the base was at peace. Those soldiers were Osea's last hope. If they made it in time, they could put up a fight, and hopefully halt the enemies advance long enough for re-enforcements to get there. Just then, Marcus approached Miller.

"So, have you figured it out yet?" Marcus asked.

"Figured out what?" Miller asked back.

"Have you figured out why you are fighting?" Miller stood for a second, and thought.

"I'm fighting to protect my loved ones," he replied not knowing what else to say.

"I too once fought for that same cause; and now my family is gone."

"What about your wingman, Garuda one; what did he fight for?" Miller asked. Marcus took a second to think. It had been ten years since he last saw the man.

"Lewis Wolfe… he was a strange man. He didn't have a particular reason to fight; he just did what he had to. He didn't have any family, so there was nothing the enemy could threaten him with, and he wasn't afraid to die; and that ultimately lead to his death."

Steven stood there, confused at the statement.

"How could that have lead to his death?" he asked. "If anything, shouldn't that have helped him?"

"Steven, not having a fear of death is not an advantage, its vulnerability."

"You see, fear is your instinct, which helps you survive on the battlefield; without it, it makes you easier to kill. People who survive long enough in a war start to let go of their fear, but fear is an instinct. Without a desire to survive, you become vulnerable. Whenever I went into battle, I was always a little afraid, and that's why I survived. My flight lead was too confident, and thus, he was killed."

"So what you're saying is, let your fear take you over, and let it help you?" Miller asked.

"Don't let the fear overtake you; be a little afraid, enough so that it can help you. Too much fear can cripple you, but just enough can save your life."

"Thanks doc," Miller said. The advice was always good.

"I really wish you would just call me Marcus," he replied.

"Sorry, but that's what I call all doctors." They both chuckled, even though it wasn't that funny.

"Well, I got to go; some of the wounded need my attention." Marcus walked back to the hospital. Miller had learned a valuable life lesson, one that would save his life.

* * *

Time: 1136 hours

Location: Modelski, Wellow

November 25th 2025

Flynn and the 106th battalion had been moved to Modelski, a large city a few miles from Reisance. A formation of Estovakian tanks was closing in on the city limits. Flynn and his boys were in the center of the city, and were in the middle of a firefight with Estovakian Storm Troopers. Flynn fired his G-36C at one of the troopers, and the rounds tore through his chest. He took cover behind a wall. The enemies were being backed up by a GTK Boxer APC.

"Torrez! Take out that goddamn vehicle!" Flynn called to one of his men. Torrez readied a Javelin missile, and fired. The Boxer ignited and exploded, shooting debris at the Estovakian troopers. The 106th quickly finished off the last of the enemy unit.

"Good job, boys," said Walker. Just as he said that, a Black Eagle tank pulled around the street.

"Oh, you've_ got_ to be kidding me," said Flynn as he stared at the tank. The mammoth tank fired a shell which impacted their position, killing seven of Flynn's men. They fired on the slowly advancing tank. That's when Flynn noticed that Allen was missing. He looked to the side of the tank, and he was there. He jumped on top of the tank, and set an explosive charge. He jumped back off, and detonated it. The tank came to a screeching halt. He got back on the vehicle, killed the remaining crew, and got off.

"You have to teach me how to do that one day," said Rob, admiring Allen's tactic.

"Alright men, split into two groups and form a perimeter around this block; we have to make sure the enemy doesn't get in any further." The group spilt up, taking defensive positions around some of the larger buildings.

"Watch yourselves!" called another solider. "Friendly's, moving up!" Another group of Wellan soldiers was moving in to back up the 106th. There we're at least fifty of them. Rob's old war buddy, Justin Rusto was leading them. They had brought a couple of Stryker's with them.

"Move, move!" Rusto called to his men. "Form a line, and get ready!" Rusto approached Flynn.

"Good to see you, old friend," said Rusto as he shook Rob's hand.

"Man, it's hard to believe we're both here again."

"And in the same situation," Rob replied.

"Give me a sit-rep," said Rusto.

"Well, we've got Estovakian tanks closing in on the city," said Flynn as they both walked over to a map, which was sitting on a table.

"We've been engaging their Storm Troopers all morning, and they've been putting up a solid fight. We have weapons to combat the tanks, but it won't be easy without air support."

"Where are your men stationed?" Rusto asked.

"My men have taken up defensive positions, here, here and here," said Flynn as he pointed to three different streets. "And we have snipers backing them up from here," he finished as he pointed to an apartment complex.

"What about the civilians?" Rusto asked. "Have they been evacuated?"

"No, not all of them" Flynn replied. "The 382nd is evacuating the city as we speak. However there are still civilians in sectors D, E and F"

"Alright," said Rusto. "Leave the air support to me; I'll get on the horn and request gunship support." Rob nodded his head, and walked back to the command post. Things were about to get hectic… fast. Rob picked up his radio; a recon team was keeping an eye on the enemy from atop a small building.

"Foxtrot to Recon, what's the situation?" he asked.

"It's not looking good, sir," the solider replied. "The Estovakians have been reinforced with more armor and have begun advancement. Recommend we pull out immediately."

"Negative," barked Flynn. "We're staying."

"Roger that; recon out."

"Get ready!" Flynn yelled to his soldiers. "Enemies moving in; give em' hell, boys." They once again took up positions, and were awaiting the enemy's arrival. Then, a group of Estovakian soldiers came around the corner of the block.

"Let em' have it!" Rob yelled. They opened on the enemy, who quickly dove for cover. Flynn fired a grenade into a group of soldiers, who were blown away and done with. A Wellan Challenger II pulled around from Flynn's six o'clock and fired, taking out a couple dozen Stovie soldiers. Then, two enemy Black Eagle's pulled up, and were about twenty yards away. Both of them fired, and took out the Challenger II. Soon, more Estovakian soldiers roped down from helicopters. Things were going to get intense, and this fight wasn't going to be over soon.

* * *

Time: 1245 hours

Estovakian frontline, North West Osea

Kristovonich's Army was advancing quickly. They were just about finished with another town, and were about to move on. There were pockets of resistance from the Osean National Guard, but nothing a few airstrikes couldn't deal with. Florence was leading the main force. Kristovonich was sitting on one of his tanks. He picked up his radio.

"This is Kristovonich; Florence, what is your status, over?"

"This is Florence; we are advancing smoothly. Casualties have been kept to a minimum; we should have no problem with our advance; over?"

"Ten four, Kristo out." Kristovonich's plan was succeeding. He and his army were getting what they hand wanted for nine long years; revenge. It wasn't just about some lost money. Kristo was disgusted by the media mongering Oseans, most of whom were simply handed everything in life. Kristo, like most Estovakians, he had to fend for himself growing up. His parents had been killed in a massive riot, and he had to learn for make choices on his own, when he was only seven years old. For years it had been food or shelter, pick and choose. After years of living on the streets and feeding off of garbage scraps, he finally joined the military at age seventeen. He had a home there, and he felt welcome, and a part of something bigger than himself; which was why most people joined their countries armed forces.

'When did they ever have to sacrifice anything?' he asked.

Kristovonich was handed a clipboard, and on that clipboard was a paper with statistics from the invasion. He looked at their progress so far.

Operation A: Storm Osean beachhead, and establish frontline - Completed

Operation B: Destroy enemy outposts- Completed

Operation C: Push into the country - In Progress

Operation D: Destroy Osean Capital Oured- Standing By

KIA: 137  
MIA: 13  
WIA: 184

Although they were still a long way from Oured, if they kept on like this, they would reach it in no time. Or so they thought. Little did they know, there was a surprise up ahead.

* * *

Time: 1300 hours

Modelski, Wellow

After another hour of fierce combat, the Estovakians finally broke through the 106th's defensive parameter. Out of the one hundred some odd men there, only twelve managed to escape, including Flynn, Walker, Rusto and a handful of Wellan soldiers. They were hiding in the woods outside the city limits. They looked upward as a formation seven B-52's carpet-bombed the rest of Modelski. They had lost the battle, and the worst part was that there were still civilians in the city.

"Alright," said Flynn as he picked up his weapon. "Let's get out of here."

"So we're just gonna leave them to die?" Walker furiously asked.

"Look, we're not leaving them to die. Chances are they are already dead. Its fourteen hundred of them, verses twelve of us. We have to get back to base, and re-group with the main force." Walker stood in place, stunned at his commander's words. How could he be so cold? During the last war, Flynn went out of his way to save civilians; but now he had changed.

"Okay," Walker replied as he finally accepted Flynn's choice. "Let's go." They began to walk through the woods, that way it would be easier to avoid Stovie troopers. Suddenly, Flynn heard the sound of a helicopter approaching from the south.

"Everyone, get down!" he barked. They went prone for a second as the UH-60 blew overhead. There was a pause.

"Clear!" one of them called. They got back up, and continued walking. They walked for a few more miles. No one said a word. The 106th had been decimated, and Modelski was leveled. They would never hear the end of it from their superiors. They couldn't all help but wonder how the rest of Wellow was holding up. They were about to find out.

After another hour or so of walking, they arrived back at Reisance. Other units looked at them as they walked past. They couldn't believe their eyes. The 106th, one of Wellow's best units, was gone. General Lourayous was there to de-brief them. He told them about how the Estovakians had taken several cities, and were gaining more ground every hour. They turned on the television in the briefing room.

"The following is a message from Prime Minister Kwall, regarding the recent Estovakian invasion." The image turned to a middle-aged man sitting at his desk.

"My fellow Wellans; it is true, things are not going well right now. We have lost several strategic positions by the invaders, and as I speak they are gaining more ground… But I assure you; our brave men and women of the armed forces will drive off these invaders, and bring the fight to them. We have reached a point in our history of uncertainty; we're not sure what's going to happen. However, we still have plenty of fight left in us, and we will not stop fighting until the threat from the invaders has been removed. Good luck… and God bless."

The screen went blank for a second before going back to the news room.

"Umm, that was Prime Minister Kwall, for those of you who are just joining us; Wellow is officially at war with the Federal Republic of Estovakia." Flynn got up as if to walk away, but Lourayous stopped him.

"Major, there's something I need to talk to you about."

"What is it, sir?" Flynn asked in an almost irritated voice.

"You're gonna need a new unit before you go out next," said Lourayous. The General got up again and walked Flynn to the back. When they got outside, there was a large group of Marines awaiting them.

"Attention!" Lourayous barked. The Marines snapped to attention at the General's order.

"What do you think?" he asked. Flynn observed the Marines; they were really young. By the looks of things they had just finished boot-camp.

"They look… Nervous," said Flynn as came around to Lourayous's left side.

"These men just finished their training; top of their class, actually. They're one of the best units in our armed forces."

"My boys were the best too," Flynn replied. "And now look what happened."

"Well, one way or the other, you need a new unit, and these men are some of the finest we can offer."

Within twenty minutes Flynn had his men battle ready and assigned squads. Each squad boarded an MH-53 and before Flynn knew it he was back on the front lines.

* * *

Chapter Seven is complete. Read, review, and keep supporting. Feel free to make suggestions and please provide constructive criticism.

Final Note: There have been some concerns about the enemy's "infrared radar" system. That will be explained in a later chapter. All in good time, friends.. all in good time.

Credits

James Tobin: Concept/Ideas

Thomas John: Dialogue/Events


	8. Domination

* * *

Authors Note: A lot of people are going to hate me for this chapter. You'll find out why, but my mind is made up.

Time: 1700 hours

Location: Estovakian Frontline, Osea

Date: November 26th 2025

Just as the main enemy force was advancing to Reburance, a large city within Osea, they were ambushed by an Osean battalion. Since the Stovies were not expecting any resistance, they had been startled, and were barely able to fight back. Leading the Osean battalion was none other than Brigadier General Louis Schulender, a decorated Osean officer, well known for his valor and bravery on the battlefield. The fight began to unfold, and explosions began to cover the field. The battalion was five thousand strong.

"Reinforce the left flank!" Schulender called as the battalion pounded away at the Stovies. They were doing battle on a wide open plain; the only real sense of cover was the Abrams or the Strykers. A mortar shell flew over from the distance and disabled one of Schulender's tanks. Two Marines had been killed, and another one went into shellshock before being picked off by a Stovie sharp-shooter. Schulender picked up the radio.

"Hummingbird, its time!" he announced. "Begin your attack!"

"Roger that, General; we're inbound. Heads up and get ready." Two AH-1 Super Cobras soared overhead at around five hundred feet, letting off a volley of rockets and spraying the Stovies with a barrage of bullets. Schulender looked towards the enemy battalion; they we're starting to falter.

"They're crumbling!" another Marine called. "Keep it up!" After another fifteen minutes of intense combat the Estovakians finally began to fall apart.

"Alright; now's our chance!" Schulender announced over the radio. "Push forward! Drive em out!" The massive battalion advanced and broke into the enemy's formation. The Stovies were in full retreat.

"God damn it!" Kristovonich exclaimed."Hmph; it's nothing, just a minor setback."

"Fall back, fall back!" a Stovie solider called. Kristo's force had been defeated… for now.

"I don't believe it!" an Osean Marine announced. "They're retreating; we won!" The battalion began to cheer at the sight of the retreating Estovakian forces.

"Settle down, men," said Schulender. "It's not over yet; this battle isn't over yet."

* * *

Time: 1734 hours

Fort Anderson, Osea

Angel flight was sitting on the runway, awaiting takeoff clearance. The Air Defense network had picked up a group of transport planes entering Osean airspace, and based on their current trajectory, they were most likely on their way to the Estovakian frontlines. If the Stovies received more armor and troops, their attack capabilities would be increased tenfold. Angel flight's newest assignment was to shoot down these transporters. They were going to receive help from Mobius One and Two, as well as the Katana squadron.

"Angel squadron, takeoff permission has been granted," the control tower announced. Miller gently applied thrust, and his Viper Zero began rolling down the runway. As soon as he hit two hundred mph, he pulled up on the flight stick. His squadron joined up on his flank. A voice broke through the radio; it was Hawk Eyes.

"Angel squadron; enter air-holding pattern and await the others."

"Roger that, Hawk Eyes," Miller replied. "We're in no rush." Ten minutes later, the other craft were airborne.

"Control, this is Angel One, all planes are airborne, over?"

"Copy that, Angel One; proceed on course to target destination. Good luck."

Two hours into the flight, it was time for a midair refueling. A KC-135 Stratotanker was in the vicinity, and the flight approached it from the rear.

"There they are," the tanker pilot announced to the crew. "Get ready!" He switched frequencies from 14.678 to 14.723.

"Pilots, I can see your planes from here; this is the Osean Air Defense Force tanker 'Phoenix'; how may we assist you today?"

"We don't need much," Mobius One replied. "All we need is a little juice and we'll be on our way."

"Sure thing," said the tanker pilot. "Check your planes, and prepare for refueling."

"Okay, Angel Team, you guys go first," said Mobius Two. Miller lined his plane up with the fuel pump. He slowly began moving forward.

"Five hundred yards to go," the tanker announced. Miller came in closer.

"Two hundred yards to go." Miller was starting to tense up. This was his first midair refuel.

"Fifty yards to go." Finally, he was within range to receive fuel.

"You're pretty good, Angel One; commence with refueling." Five minutes later, Miller had a full tank and was ready to roll.

"All set, Angel One; disconnect," said the boom operator. Miller pulled the Viper backwards, sealed the gas tank, and re-joined his squadron. Ten minutes later, the entire flight was fully fueled up.

"All set, Katana Two; disconnect."

"All planes; let's get going," said Haverson. The planes hit full throttle and sped away from the tanker.

* * *

Time: 1758 hours

After another hour or so of flying, the squadron had arrived at the combat zone. It was over a mountain range, of some sort. Visibility was great for miles, which would be perfect for any pilot.

"Angel One, Hawk Eyes here; you should be getting visual on the transports soon."

"Copy that, Hawk Eyes," Miller replied. "Keep an eye on us up there."

"Mobius Squadron; it's an honor to be working with you," said Jacob.

"It's nice to work with you too," Pearl replied. "Show us what the Osean air Force can do."

"Hold on, we've got something unusual on radar," Hawk Eyes announced. There was a long pause.

"That's odd… it looks like jamming, but not any kind that I've seen before."

"All planes, exercise extreme caution while engaging the enemy." Miller snapped on his mask, and lowered his visor; the others did the same.

"Angel Squadron, break formation and hunt down those transports."

"Copy that," Haverson and Jacob replied as one. Angel Squadron split formation and accelerated. Katana squadron broke the right and Mobius Squadron went up the middle. Miller checked all of his gauges one last time. Everything was in check. This time, his flight was carrying AMRAAM missiles, as well as the two conventional Aim9's. Miller caught sight of one of the transports; it was a C-17.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "These fuckers aren't going down that easily." Steven moved in for a shot, and dropped an AMRAAM. The missile impacted the transporter, and it began to trail smoke. He moved in for a closer shot and let off a burst of ammunition from his cannon. The shots tore off the transporters right wing, and it began to spiral. He pulled away to the right, and began looking for his next target. He caught sight of another C-17; but before he could take it out, Haverson had snagged the kill.

"Ha, ha! That's four kills for me!" Haverson obnoxiously announced.

As the fight continued, Miller began to feel uneasy. Something wasn't right. For one, there weren't any fighter escorts; and two, the C-17's weren't even attempting to defend themselves. Suddenly, his gauges began acting funny, and started to spin uncontrollably.

"This is Angel One, my aircraft is acting strange; is anyone else getting this?"

"Yeah, something's wrong with my equipment," Haverson announced. "The radar isn't responding!"

"I'm not getting any radar returns either," said Rainer. "Something's wrong."

"Hawk Eyes, what's going on?" Jacob asked.

"I don't know," he replied. "I've never seen anything like this before in my life." Just out of curiosity, Miller pulled the trigger to release a missile: nothing.

"You've got to be joking," he said, panic in his voice. "The weapons system isn't responding!"

That's when they all came to a realization: it was a trap. Hawk Eyes voice blared through their speakers.

"Warning! Fighter squadron, multiple enemy units approaching at high speed! Withdraw from the airspace immediately!"

Miller looked to the right of his plane, and noticed two craft flying in sporadic patterns. He switched his frequency to the intercept COMM. What he heard chilled his blood to the max.

_"Grievous Seven to Grievous Nine, what're we gonna do?"_

"_You heard to commander, our mission is to kill Mobius One," the other one replied. _

_"Are you sure that's him?"_

"_Positive. I've seen those moves before."_

_"What about the others?"_

"_Eh, kill them too. They'll be easy additions to our record."_

_"Grievous Seven, roger that."_

Miller switched back to the regular frequency. Now he was scared. These pilots had wiped out the Wardog squadron without breaking a sweat. If the Razgriz were no match for them, they would be torn to shreds.

"Ripper, those are the guy's from five days ago!" Miller exclaimed.

"Shit! All aircraft jettison payload and bug out!"

Steven pulled the Viper to the left, towards the east. He had been shot down by these pilots once before, and he wasn't about to let it happen again. However, Mobius One and Two remained on a course to intercept the enemy planes.

"All allied aircraft get out of here!" Rainer demanded. "We'll handle these guys." Without saying a word, Angel and Katana Squadron applied full thrust and retreated.

"Alright, old friend," said Rainer. "You ready?"

"Roger that," Pearl replied. "Let's do this."

"You take the one on the right," said Rainer. The two broke formation, as did the Wyverns. They were not in range of the unusual jamming, so they would at least be able to fight back. The dogfight began as most did, with a volley of missiles from the two sides. Rainer spun his F-22 downward, avoiding a direct hit from an AMRAAM. He pulled the Raptor into Immelmann and was spiking the other plane. The Wyvern pulled a Cobra and forced Mobius One to overshoot. Now he had a bandit hot on his tail, tracers racing past his canopy. Liath entered a cork-screw dive, but the bandit had him locked up. He let off another stream of tracers, this time, they hit Liath's plane. There were six holes in the fuselage.

"Damn it!" he shouted. He needed to shake this guy, or it was all over. He flipped the F-22 on its right side and pulled away. The bandit had lost sight of him.

Pearl was being chased by the other bandit who seemed to specialize in long-range attacks. He heard the sound of a missile alert. Chris dropped flair's from his F-22 and performed a Split-s. Pearl put the Raptor into a large high-g right turn, smacking him into the uncomfortable ejection seat. The result was a satisfying one, as he was now behind the Wyvern. The tone of the missile lock blared and he let an Aim9 loose. The bandit pulled a sharp loop and avoided the shot. Pearl screamed in frustration as he let off a barrage of tracers, all of which missed the bandit.

A few miles out, a group of Estovakian-Verusan fighters orbited the dogfight.

"Shouldn't we be helping them?" one pilot asked.

"Nah, we'll only get in the way."

"I can't stand when they treat us like a bunch of lapdogs."

"Yeah, well solider like us are too stupid to think for ourselves. We need pilots like them to guide us."

The battle had now been raging for three cruel, punishing minutes. Pearl was beginning to lose his edge. Suddenly, he felt something. Something he hadn't felt in the longest time; fear. His hand was shaking on the flight stick. He turned around; the Wyvern was gone. He heard the tone of the missile alert. He didn't even try to avoid it. Chris excepted a strong reality; he was going to die. He closed his eyes as the missile collided with his plane.

"NO!!" Rainer yelled as he watched his wingman's fighter explode. Then, before he had time to think, a series of tracers penetrated his canopy, killing him and destroying the plane. The F-22 exploded, and there was nothing left of either of the two pilots. The Wyvern circled around to confirm the kills.

"Grievous Seven, do you see a parachute?" Nine asked.

"Negative," he replied. "That's a confirmed kill on my end."

"Very good; mission accomplished. All planes get back to base."

* * *

Time: 1946 hours

Fort Anderson, Osea

The two Osean squadrons landed their planes, taxied and walked to the hangar for debriefing. Charles was awaiting them; he didn't seem too thrilled. Angel Squadron sat down in the same row. Charles let out a dissatisfied sigh.

"The entire mission was a failure. We have confirmed that the transport planes you engaged were decoys, and the real targets made it to the Estovakian frontlines. The enemy has received a surplus of supplies as well as reinforcements. The unusual jamming you boys encountered was unlike anything we have seen before. Our system analysis experts are looking into it as we speak. Mobius one and two have been confirmed KIA. That is all; dismissed."

As Steven exited the briefing room he couldn't help but wonder who these mysterious Wyvern pilots were. First they killed off Wardog squadron, and now they killed off Mobius One _and_ Two. They were good; really good. If they could kill six of the world's best pilots, who knew what else they were capable of. Although they didn't wipe out Mobius squadron, they did kill two crucial members. Strangely enough, their deaths didn't seem to faze anyone all that much. There were simply too many things happening at once to mourn anything. By now the world had accepted that there would never be peace forever. There was always going to be a war somewhere; this world was simply too unstable.

As he looked around the base, Miller noticed that the pilots and soldiers were incredibly demoralized. It had been only five days since the war began, and already the despair was kicking in. Osea had been fighting one losing battle after another. The only good news was that the battalion that had arrived at the base a day earlier had made it to the frontlines, and was able to hold off the invaders. But that wasn't enough. What they needed now was a clear victory; something to really boost the Army's morale. It was going to have to be a massive win, however; a win that would be a severe blow to the enemy. The Yuktobanians had scored a big win earlier that day, by destroying a massive Verusan-Clavis force. It was because of this, that the Yukes were able to send support to Osea.

Miller looked to the runway; four Yuke SU-27 Flankers landed and taxied to the hangars. Other Yuke aircraft such as Typhoons, Mig-31's, and SU-34's orbited overhead. The Yuke government had heard about Fort Anderson's shortage in pilots, and decided to help out their allies. The leader of the SU-27 squadron was an Ace from the Circum Pacific War, Immeram Novikov. He opened the canopy of the Flanker. The man was medium in size, with shaved black hair, and slightly dark skin. He was a typical Yuke, but one fantastic fighter pilot, having scored twenty six kills in total.

Novikov noticed Miller, and walked over to him.

"So you are Captain Steven Miller?" he asked in a thick Yuktobanian accent.

"Yeah, I'm Steven Miller," he replied. "And you are?"

"Greetings, comrade," said Novikov as he shook Miller's hand. "My name is Immeram Novikov; I and my squadron have been ordered to go with you on sortie. I cannot wait to work with you."

"The feelings' mutual," Miller replied with a smile. He always loved flying with the Yuke pilots. They were always so full of life/

"I and my comrades are proud to fight alongside the OADF." Miller was introduced to Novikov's squadron. They were the Kvant squadron, one of Yuktobania's best, most experienced units. His number two was Anzhela Ocasio-Rios, a female pilot who earned a strong reputation for her long-range attacks. The nest guy was a man by the name Gennady Fedoseev, another Yuke Ace who was well-known for his ground support roles, although he could still hold his own in dogfight. And lastly was Ivan Sokolov, Novikov's right-hand man, and best friend. He didn't trust the Oseans all that much. He had lost his girl friend during the previous war, and held a strong-burning hatred for Osea. Yuke pilots were NOT to be underestimated. For all the talk of the Wardog squadron annihilating Yuktobanian pilots during the last war, the Yukes pretty much won every areal engagement when it came to regular Osean pilots. Wardog was a different kind of squadron, but when they weren't around, Osean planes were nothing but steel coffins.

Miller also introduced his squadron. Soon they were conversing and even poking fun at one another about past events, and current media. Haverson joked about the Osean military and how they always bragged about their latest weaponry, and Gennady talked about how his family was a bunch of drunken militants. After a few minutes and a couple of laughs, it was time to get serious.

"So, what is the situation here?" Immeram asked.

"Well, we've been able to hold the Stovies back so far," Miller replied. "But we're losing too many people in the process."

"Yes, we have also lost a significant amount of people back home," said Anzhela. "These enemies are the toughest I've seen since the war fifteen years ago."

"I guess Estovakia wasn't kidding when they said they were going to war with us."

"You have no need to worry, my friend," said Gennady in a particularly bright tone. "We've got plenty of experience with these enemies. We've got your backs!"

"And we have yours," Jacob replied. With that being said, Angel squadron showed Immeram and his men to the barracks. Other Yuke pilots had landed as well. The Yukes were rather friendly people. Most would assume they were a bunch of hard-ass, working type people. Immeram was one of the nicest guys Steven had ever met. It was hard to believe that Osea and Yuktobania had once been bitter enemies. That alone was a perfect example of how great the world could be if people just put their differences aside and worked together. Osea and Yuktobania were two completely different countries, but they were the best of allies.

Base Personnel showed Immeram and his men to their rooms. Fort Anderson was nice enough to provide clothing for the Yuke pilots. Miller was getting hungry. He walked over to the mess hall, and picked up a chicken sandwich. He sat down at a table near the exit. He began eating when Ruth from the Katana squadron walked in, still in her flight gear. She sat down on the opposite side of the table.

"You're the leader of Angel Squadron?" she asked. Miller nodded his head, wiped his mouth, and began to speak.

"That is correct," he replied. "You're Ruth from Katana Squadron. You don't talk all too much."

"Well, I and Sam have been through a lot in the past few days," she replied with a deep look of sadness. Katana squadron had lost six members during the Verusan's invasion effort.

"Listen, since you and I are going to be working together from now on, I thought we'd get to know each other a bit." Miller's face shot upward in surprise. Ruth Valentine never EVER talked to anyone on a personal level. Miller swallowed his food, and paused. Ruth had very short hair, and brown eyes. She was medium in size, as well.

"Well, you already know me," Miller replied, still shocked from Ruth's uncharacteristic actions. "I was stationed at McNealy airbase the day the war began; and you?"

"I was here," she replied. "Taking part in special operations and stuff like that; it was pretty rough."

"Did we know about the Stovies before the war began?" Miller asked.

"Oh, we've been monitoring them since their last war; they've built up their military strength to incredible heights. Now they outnumber us _and_ Yuktobania."

"How did they build such a massive force?" Miller asked with great concern.

"We don't know," she replied. "There is so much missing information, that we don't even have a theory about how they built up their forces in such a short time. Not only that, but some of the weaponry and equipment they're using is completely unheard of."

"What do you mean?"

"We've recovered some of their aircraft that were shot down; they look like normal fighter jets, but they're actually a lot different. The technology is highly advanced; not even our XFA-29's utilize some of the systems on these planes."

"I remember someone saying something about an infrared radar system," Miller replied. "Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"We've received reports from pilots, saying they heard enemies talking about their new radar system. We've taken samples of enemy radar from the acquired planes; but there's one problem."

"And what would that be?"

"There were no radar systems on the captured aircraft; there were monitors." Miller sat there, completely confounded.

"What?" he asked in utter confusion.

"We have no idea how it works; somehow they've found a way to transfer images to these aircraft using a monitoring system. We have an idea on how it works, but it's still a stretch." Ruth stopped to clear her throat. She took a deep breath, and spoke again.

"We think that the enemy has built maneuverable-orbiting space craft, much like the Arkbird-Class ships we had a few years ago. They monitor the battle from orbit using an infrared camera, and transmit the images to a responding AWACS aircraft below. The AWACS then sends the images to the fighters, and there you have it; they can spot our planes no matter what."

"There is nothing on earth that advanced," Miller replied with great concern in his voice.

"Well apparently there is," Ruth replied, laying the simple facts on the table (no pun intended).

"Is it really that hard to believe?" she asked. "Look at what we've created in the past thirty years; the Arkbird, the SOLG, Excalibur, Stonehenge, the Scinfaxi; the list goes on." She was right. Some of the weapons that had been spawned over the last three decades were rather frightening.

"God this sucks," said Miller as he rubbed his face. "Well, I gotta go; the mechanics said my plane's equipment is fucked, and I might need a new plane." Ruth let out another sigh. Just as Steven was about to leave, she got up and stopped him.

"Steven," she called. He turned around, and she was walking over to him. She stopped.

"Be careful," she said. "There's something going on in Estovakia, and I'm not sure we're gonna like what we find." Steven nodded his head.

"Thanks for the heads up," he finished right before exiting the mess hall. She was correct. There was something fishy about this war. It seemed that the enemy was waging war for no reason at all. Then he remembered what Marcus had told him.

"_There is no more honor, no more mercy, no more pride. Warfare has become more and more routine. Young men and women dying for no reason… no reason at all."_

It was almost true. Steven was beginning to lose faith in humanity. This war just seemed to come out of the blue one day. He could remember the time before the war; a better time.

* * *

Time: 11:46 pm

Location: November City Stadium

Date: August 16th 2023

Steven was at a heavy metal festival with Nathan, his two friends Chris and Tyler, and of course Gina. The last band had just finished their twenty-five song set, and the festival was now over. They all walked over to Steven's car, got in and began driving home. The ride home was an hour and half long, so there would be time to talk.

"Dude, this was definitely the best day of my life!" Tyler exclaimed from the backseat. They had arrived at the festival at 2:30 pm, and it had just ended now. They were there for six and a half hours. Six hours of heavy metal mayhem.

"Yeah, dude! Definitely worth the wait," Nathan replied. "Yo, Steve, when did we buy these tickets?"

"What's this _we_ bullshit," Steven jokingly replied. "I paid for the fucking tickets, what did you guys do?" The whole car erupted in laughter from a bunch of drunken metal-heads, except for Steven of course.

"That's beside the point, babe," Gina budded in. "When did we get the tickets?" Steve took a second to think. It had been a considerable amount of time since he purchased them.

"Um, I'd have to say about nine months ago," he finally replied. "But goddamn was it worth it."

"Hell yeah, man!" said Nathan as he tilted his head back to rest. "It sucks that we can't go back next year." Gina looked to Steven with a hint of surprise.

"W-why cant you go next year?" she asked. Steven nodded his head at Nathan's stupid remark.

"Babe, what's going on?" she asked again. Steven let out a long sigh, licked his lips and spoke.

"Me and Nathan are joining the military." Gina looked back to Nathan in complete and utter shock.

"When were you going to tell me about this?"

"We just got the letter in the mail yesterday," he replied. "We've been drafted… and apparently it's mandatory." Gina could not speak or nod in reply. She just stood there with her mouth partially open. She looked back to Chris and Tyler.

"Did you two get drafted too?" They both nodded their heads in reply.

"Well why the fuck didn't I get a letter?" she asked. She was in quite the rage at this moment.

"Are you forgetting that your father is General in the Army?" Chris asked. "I bet he got all sorts of strings pulled to get you out." Again, there was nothing but silence.

"Oh, god," said Gina as she laid her head on the window of the car. No one said a word for the rest of the ride home.

After another hour of driving, they finally arrived back in their home town. They dropped off Chris and Tyler, who both lived a few blocks away from Steven's house.

"Peace out, Steve," said Chris as he walked to his front door.

"See ya later, Chris." The remaining three drove three blocks down the road and arrived at Steven's house. Gina's house was on the other side of the street. Nathan opened the back door.

"I'll give you two some time alone," he said right before shutting the door and walking into the house.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this, Gina," Steven said softly. "I was gonna tell you when we got home… but Nathan is just a little too quick with his words sometimes." Gina managed to smile a little. She looked to him and leaned in to kiss him. He accepted her kiss, and then sat back in his seat. He let out another sigh.

"Do you have to do this?" she asked.

"It's either I join, or get thrown in Prison for fifteen years."

"But, there is a bright side to this," he said after another brief silence. "I get to choose what branch I want to join."

"Have you chosen one yet?" Gina asked

"I'm joining the Air Defense Force," Steven replied. "It'll be good since I love fighter jets so much." She leaned into him again.

"You do what ever you think is right, and I'll support you one hundred percent."

She kissed him one last time, and exited the car. After what seemed like years, Steve finally did the same and walked into his house. Upstairs, Nathan had already fallen asleep.

* * *

Present day

Time: 2043 hours

Location: Osean Frontlines, outside Reburance

After another hour of perpetrations and regrouping, the Estovakians made a second attempt at breaking through Schulender's force. The Stovies had received more supplied and a surplus of soldiers. However, their Black Eagle tanks were too heavy to airlift in, so they were lacking enough heavy armor to combat Schulender's battalion.

Once again the field was being littered with explosives and dead bodies. The smell of blood and gasoline was thick in the air. The General analyzed the situation before him. To the right flank there was a column of enemy tanks that were putting up stiff resistance. To the left a group of M113 APC's was 

inflicting severe casualties to his unit. And on top of that there was a force of Estovakian storm troopers going up the middle. Humming Bird made another pass, but it didn't do the necessary damage to drive back the enemy. Schulender's howitzer brigade was not doing much better, either. Their accuracy was off.

"Howitzer brigade!" he called over the radio. "What the hell's going on? You're missing every shot!"

"We're too close," the brigade commander replied. "Our cannons are pretty much straight up in the air."

"So go back a few yards and try again!" the General exclaimed. "God damn it! Can anyone think for themselves!?" As he finished his sentence, one of his Abrams was destroyed by a missile. The situation was getting desperate. Schulender had lost sixty percent of his forces.

"Tango two, here," one unit called over the radio. "Enemy resistance is getting fierce; we've already lost seven members of our unit."

"This is Sheppard; we've lost our tank, and two of our Strykers are severely damaged!"

"Tango two, here; we can't hold it any longer; we're pulling back!"

"Stand your ground, solider!" Schulender called. "No retreat, no surrender; that's an order!"  
Slowly but surely, the Stovies began pushing forward. A wave of howitzer rounds flew threw the air and impacted the Stovie infantry.

"Howitzers, you just saved our asses! We owe you one!" said Schulender over the radio.

"Umm, that wasn't us," the commander replied. Schulender looked behind him, another battalion of Osean Army troopers had arrived. With their help, they once again drove back the enemy forces. Leading the other battalion was Osean Commander Carl Louis. Louis walked up to Schulender and shook his hand.

"Good to see you again, General," said Louis. "Can we give you a hand?"  
"Whenever you're ready," Schulender replied.

"Alright, boys!" Louis called over the radio. "Let's send the bastards running back to their mothers!"

Kristo was becoming seriously frustrated. He took out his Single action Army and shot an Osean trooper. Another enemy approached him, only to be met with Kristo breaking his arm and cutting the poor guy's throat. Suddenly, Kristovonich realized something; he was surrounded. He turned to face the enemy. A mixed group of Osean Marines and Army troopers all had their guns trained on Kristo's body.

"Drop your weapon!" one of them ordered. Kristo slowly raised his hand, and released the gun, just before he put his hands around his head. An Osean trooper grabbed Kristo, and put him in handcuffs.

"Just your luck," the solider said in a particularly hostile tone. "We've got em' in your size." Kristo simply rolled his eyes. He solider whipped him around to the side, and put him into one of the Hummers. Estovakia's main force had been destroyed… but they would be back. It wasn't over yet.

* * *

Time: 2056 hours

Location: Fort Anderson, Osea

Word had reached Fort Anderson about Osea's recent victory against the main enemy force. Cheering could be heard throughout the base as pilots and soldiers from Osea and Yuktobania celebrated the win. This win was just the morale boost that the allies needed.

"We must celebrate, my friends," said Immeram in a bright tone.

"We should all go out for drinks tonight," Haverson suggested.

"I'm game," Miller replied.

"Holy shit, really?" Haverson asked in shock. "You? You've never had a drink in your life!"

"Everyone has to start some time," said Miller.

* * *

That night, almost the entire base was partying in celebration of their victory. Miller had a beer, and that was all he needed. He never knew Haverson could drink so much. And to his surpise, Ruth and Sam were there as well. Immeram and his squadron were the real drinkers. They were slamming down vodka like there was no tomorrow. They could have easily drunk anyone there under the table.

"Steven!" Immeram called from across the bar. "Come enjoy some vodka from our motherland!" Immeram poured Miller a shot of Yuktobanian vodka, which was some of the best in the world. It was also the most intense. Miller slammed the shot down. Within ten minutes he was drunk out of his mind.

"You haven't done this before, have you, my friend?" Gennady asked.

"N-nope," Miller barley replied.

The night began to wind down, and the drinking became less intense. Steven and the others all took special pills, created by the Osean military to counteract the effects of alcohol, that way the repercussions would be less intense in morning after. The two squadrons wobbled back to their barracks, said their good nights to each other and went to sleep. The day belonged to the allies; but it wouldn't last long.

* * *

And I am done with chapter eight. I personally think this was the best chapter. My sincerest apologies to Mobius Squadron fans. I just wanted to try something different, so I killed them. To bad, so sad. Anyway, assuming you don't want to kill me by now, join us next time for chapter nine.

Credits

James Tobin: Concept/Ideas

Thomas John: Dialogue/Events


	9. My Love For You Is Like A Tomcat

Time: 1329 hours

Location: Fort Anderson, Osea

Date: December 7th 2025

Angel flight and all of the other squadrons stationed at the base were called to a special briefing, the pilots trudging into the briefing room even before the sun was up. It had been one week since the last reported enemy activity, but this had to happen now. No one had any idea what was going on and it showed on the faces of the pilots and in their whispers. Angel squadron had received their well-needed rest, but now it was time for action and they couldn't help but feel anticipation at the prospect of getting to go out and fly again. Miller, Haverson and Jacob, as well as the Kvant squadron were all sitting in the same row of the room that heavily resembled a college lecture hall. Commander Charles had just finished talking to his advisor when Miller and his wingmen arrived. The moment they sat down, the commander stepped up to the podium and the briefing began.

"Well, this is it, people," he announced, the seriousness of his voice cutting the air like a bayonet.

"Today we're gonna drive the last remaining Estovakian forces off of our soil; it's gonna be a joint operation between us and the ground forces. The enemy has established a large defensive parameter around a town at the very tip of our country. We've pushed them back this far, but if we are going to launch into Estovakia, we need to make sure none of them are still in Osea."

Miller felt his stomach sink. 'We're launching into Estovakia?' he asked himself. He could understand driving them out of Osea, but an all-out invasion of their country seemed so unnecessary, and it would cost unnecessary lives as well, but a more important and pressing question came to the front of his mind; what were they going to do for planes? His Viper had been fried from the inside out during the last mission and the rest of Angel was no better off. He listened with half an ear as Charles went over the battle plan, wondering what the brass was going to do about this.

"Any questions?" he asked. Miller raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Miller?"

"Sir, what is my squadron going to do about planes?" he asked. Charles paused.

"We've replaced your planes," he replied with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "They're tuned up and ready for battle; try not to destroy these ones. If there are no more questions, you are all dismissed."

Movement broke out all across the room as the pilots stood, chatting with one another, some heading for the bathroom, others stretching as they walked. It would be the last time for many hours that they got the chance to do so.

"Miller! Before I forget, two new members have been added to your squadron," Charles called after him as soon as he reached the door. The pilot stared at Charles for a second, a whole host of emotions swirling inside of him, ranging from wonder to excitement. He was finally going to fulfill one of his life-long dreams; leading a five-ship formation!

"Who are the new pilots?" Miller asked, his curiosity demanding that he speak.

"Ruth and Sam are joining Angel squadron by their own request," Charles replied. "Now go. You're expected on the battlefield before the operation commences."

"Yes sir," Miller answered dutifully.

The ace left for the hangar, trying to keep the grin that wanted to spread across his face from doing just that. The grin turned into a dropped jaw when he saw the three F-14D Super Tomcats sat idle in the hangar before him, each one gleaming like a woman on her wedding day. They were all armed to the teeth with two AIM-9 Sidewinders, two AIM-7 Sparrows, and six AIM- 56 Phoenix missiles. A man with back hair and blue eyes had finished arming the F-14, grunting slightly as he held a Phoenix in place on the last Tomcat, the crew working with him hurrying to bolt the weapon into place.

"I'm guessing you're my weapons officer," said Miller to the man as he ducked out from underneath the F-14. The man noticed Miller watching and came over; smiling as he extended a friendly hand which Scorch took. The RIO's grip was tough and tight, rough calluses on his fingers scratching against Miller's palm.

"The name's Thomas Jenkins," the man said, releasing his pilot's hand. "My moniker is Gargoyle, just a heads up. Nice to be working with you."

"Mine is Scorch," Miller replied. "The pleasure's all mine."

Miller climbed into the front seat of the Tomcat and began start up as Jenkins hopped into the backseat and began his own start procedures. He put on his black flight helmet and sealed the canopy as soon as Jenkins got himself situated. Miller had flown this plane once before during training. All OADF pilots learned the basics of Carrier landings and operation, the idea being to preserve operational flexibility between all branches, that way, if a pilot had an engine out and a carrier group nearby, he or she would be able to land on the carrier and keep loss of life either nonexistent or to a minimum. He pulled the plane out of the hangar, along with Haverson and Jacob. In the hangar on his right side, Kvant squadron was pulling out and heading for the runway. Other Yuke and Osean aircraft were taking off, roaring into the sky like a nest of dragons. He could see the Katana squadron in the other side of the base, moving for the same runway that Angel squadron was.

"Angel squadron, this is the control tower; your squadron is number five for takeoff."

"Copy that control," Miller replied in a monotone. He had to learn to be controlled in battle; emotions often got in the way, since if he got tied up it would lead to his early death.

"We're in no rush." Jenkins remarked snidely, making Miller grin. Control wasn't exactly known for their expediency, especially with this many fighters in one place.

"Well, friend," said Immeram over the radio. "This is our first sortie together; I'm rather excited."

"I can't wait to see you guys in action," Miller replied.

"So Miller, I heard you are an Ace too," said Anzhela. "How many kills?"

"Six kills; I shot five fighters, and one transport craft."

"Very impressive," Anzhela remarked. "What about you two?" she asked to Haverson and Jacob.

"Four kills," answered Haverson.

"Yeah, same," Jacob finished.

Miller could almost hear Anzhela's grin over the radio. "I'm sure that will change some time today."

A few minutes later the control tower instructed the two squadrons to begin moving to the runway. Kvant moved up first, followed by Angel, and then another allied group. Kvant took off in formation and in fifteen seconds they were airborne and out of sight, the aircraft that made up the squadron turning into nothing but fading specks before vanishing completely.

"Angel squadron, takeoff permission has been granted, fly runway heading then follow assigned course." The three-ship formation accelerated down the runway, leaving jet-wash in their wake and screaming into the skies before meeting up with the other allied units. Katana squadron, or Angel Four and Five, lined up behind the three-ship in V formation. Miller checked behind him to see the glory of his new Tomcat squadron.

"We look pretty bad-ass," Haverson remarked, the others chuckling at the remark. Kvant squadron was on their right side, with another squadron of F-16C's on the left, and two Foxbats in front. Other aircraft were there as well. By this time most of the pilots from Fort Anderson had gained a considerable amount of combat experience. Miller, surprisingly enough, was feeling pretty good about the battle ahead. He was hopeful that most of the pilots would return home safely.

They flew for almost two hours in silence before the voice broke through the radio. It was Hawk Eyes.

"Attention all Allied aircraft; the ground forces will begin their assault in ten minutes. Listen closely; if the ground forces are wiped out this operation will fail. We're expecting stiff resistance; if you arrive on time, we'll be able to cut casualties among allied ground units to a minimum."

"Roger that, Hawk Eyes," Miller replied as he snapped on his mask. "Okay, all units, prepare to engage; let's go!" Miller hit the throttle, as did the other allied planes. They were now forty miles away from the battle zone. The sky was dark and gloomy; it was going to rain soon. Miller checked his radar to see a large allied ground force holding position just outside of the enemy's firing range.

"Calling all allied planes, this is the Osean 83rd mechanized battalion; we need you to make a quick sweep of the area before we begin our attack."

"Roger that, commander," Hawk Eyes replied. "Vapor squadron, make a quick pass."

"Wilco, Vapor is inbound." A squadron of four A-10A Warthogs rolled onto their backs and dove, rolling upright again once they were established, leveling out at around six hundred feet. A column of Black Eagle tanks were surprised to say the least, as the Warthogs screamed past overhead and let loose with a couple hundred rounds from their GAU-8 Avengers, the massive rounds destroying the tanks and taking some bunkers and APC's with them in a series of explosions as the High Explosive rounds found their mark. The Warthogs pulled up and split to distract and confuse any enemy counterattack.

"That's a confirmed kill on an enemy unit," the Vapor squadron leader announced, the attack pilot obviously pleased with his success.

"Roger, Commander, begin your attack," the AWACS announced.

"Copy that; these bastards don't have a chance, we've got 'em outnumbered; all tanks advance; drive 'em out!" The battalion began moving forward, becoming a cloud of moving exhaust and dust as the armor trundled forward, the tank turrets sweeping back and forth, occasionally belching a plume of smoke and fire.

High above, Miller noticed multiple enemy contacts on his scope.

"Enemy aircraft approaching," he said. "Angel squadron, let's show 'em a good time!"

"Amen to that!" Haverson exclaimed.

"Count us in too!" Immeram called in an unusually bright tone. The two squadrons changed direction, on a course to intercept the enemy planes. "I don't want you guys stealing all the glory!"

"Tally-ho," said Jacob. "Twelve o'clock high, bearing three-one-zero, range, five miles."

"Angel squadron, break formation and take out the enemy," Miller ordered.

"Yes sir!" his squadron replied as one. The V formation broke away and spread out, moving to cover an enormous amount of sky.

"Gargoyle let me know when we're in range."

"Copy that," Jenkins replied. "Targets will be within range in ten seconds." Miller made sure to pick his target carefully. He didn't want to waste a missile because someone else picked the same target. He caught sight of an F-15E flying in a semi-straight line; that, he decided, was gonna be his first kill of the battle.

"Scorch, target is within rage to fire a missile, I suggest we beat him to it."

"Roger that, I'm taking the shot! Angel One, Fox Two!" A Sidewinder detached from the belly of Miller's Super Tomcat and sped away, chasing after the target. Miller watched the missile close in and destroy the Strike Eagle then he pulled hard into a break turn as he called Splash One. Immeram roared overhead and fired an Archer missile, picking off a Mig-29. The other members of Angel squadron had also picked off a few targets. A missile flew in from the distance and nailed an allied F-16C; luckily, the pilot was able to eject. Soon, the long-range battle degenerated into an all-out furball. Miller let off a series of tracers, perforating the cockpit of another enemy plane, killing the pilot.

"That's three!" He crowed as he turned to engage the bandits. He circled around in pursuit of a SU-27. He armed another AIM-9 and fired. The Flanker pilot dropped flares and jinked wildly, avoiding the shot, before being picked off by Haverson, who was coming in from Miller's blind spot. He jumped as Haverson turned away.

"Ripper, next time you're gonna pull a stunt like that, at least warn me!" Miller exclaimed in a small panic.

"Sorry, man," Haverson replied in a gleeful tone. "That was my fifth kill! I've just become an ace!"

"Congratulations!" Jacob called. "Now if you don't mind, I think I'll grab my fifth as well." Jacob roared overhead and pulled downward, fired a Sparrow, and snagged an enemy Typhoon, making him an Ace at that very moment.

Considering many of the allied planes were the same as the enemy's, telling two planes apart wasn't easy, especially in the roiling chaos of the furball. Luckily, the enemy planes were painted differently from the allies, which helped somewhat. Angel squadron's craft had a very nice semi-green camouflage paint scheme; meanwhile, the Kvant squadron Flankers had a tan camo scheme, which was standard on all of Yuktobania's Flankers.

Miller risked a look below as he chased another bogey across the sky. The ground forces seemed to be doing well. By the looks of things, they were just about finished with the Stovie forces. But something wasn't right; this was a little too easy. Although Miller had anticipated that the Estovakians would have some tricks up their sleeve, he wasn't sure what they had in store for the Allies until it actually happened. He said a quick prayer, and took a moment to ascertain the situation. The allies were dominating the skies, the ground forces were having no trouble at all, and the enemy was barely fighting back. He switched radio frequencies to the interception COMM.

_ "If you're going to do something, commander, I suggest you do it fast; cause when the Mortivore fires, there won't be anything left in that area." _

_"Just give us the word and we're out of here." _

"_Roger that, withdraw from the area immediately." _

_"Alright; all friendly units get out of the combat zone."_

"Mortivore? That does not sound good," Miller said to himself while switching back to the allied COMM. "I've got a bad feeling about this." As he swung the Super Tomcat around, he noticed the enemy aircraft were withdrawing, bright spots lighting up all across the sky as the enemy aircraft began to bug out.

"Alright, enemy retreat confirmed," said Hawk Eyes, his voice calm and collected. Apparently he didn't think anything was wrong. "Mission complete, all planes RTB."

"That was easy," Jacob said his tone full of confident pride.

It didn't last longer than the time it took him to speak the words.

The sky flashed, and a massive roar drowned out the voices of the pilots. A large projectile impacted the Ground Forces, blowing a massive fountain of earth thousands of feet into the air, followed by a shockwave so massive it downed some of the allied planes.

"Holy shit! What the hell was that!?" an allied pilot screamed.

"The ground forces were wiped out? Just what happened?"

"Everything below fifteen thousand feet was destroyed!" Gennady announced.

"Angel squadron, status!" Miller snapped, his voice quivering slightly, his blood running ice cold at the sudden turn of events. This was like during the Circum-Pacific war when the Scinfaxi had attacked. He would never forget seeing the gun camera footage off the Razgriz from that day.

"Angel Two, I'm still okay."

"Angel Three, I'm not dead yet."

"Angel Four, my aircraft is damaged, but I can still fly." There was no response from Sam.

"Angel Five, your radio's down; number five, where are you?" There was still no response from the pilot. Was he downed just now? It was the only logical explanation, unless by some massive coincidence his radio was experiencing technical difficulties at the time of the blast. Just as they were about to give up hope that the man was alive and the frantic calls were beginning to die down, another F-14D pulled up off the squadron's left side.

"It's Sam; he's alive!" Ruth exclaimed. "I'm receiving a coded transmission now." There was a few second's pause.

"Radio… is… en op…. sorry." Then, there was another flash, followed by a thunderous shockwave, and more planes were destroyed, the machines dissolving into nothing but metal shrapnel that sparkled like ice as it fell. Miller looked away when he saw one pilot, who'd somehow survived the blast, falling earthward, minus his ejection seat and the life-saving parachute that went with it.

"Damn it!" Haverson exclaimed. "Listen, if you want to live, get above fifteen thousand feet before that thing hits!" The allied swarm began pulling upward, some planes stalling out as they went beyond their attack angle and tumbled helplessly back.

"I can't make it in time!" a pilot cried as his fighter shuddered, slowed and finally began tumbling.

"Next Impact in ten seconds," Hawk Eyes announced. Angel and Kvant squadron had made the fifteen thousand foot mark, and they were safe from the blast. However, a good portion of the allied planes were still in range of the shockwave.

"Five… four… three… two… one… impact." This time, the blast was bigger, the shockwave more intense, and half of the remaining planes were destroyed.

"On no!" Jacob screamed. "There go the others!" Every plane below the safety line was destroyed; all of them falling as a constellation of fireballs.

"That's it, I've had it! All planes withdraw from the combat zone; get out now!" Miller barked.

"Captain Miller," Hawk Eyes cut in. "You don't have that kind of authority! You cannot authorize a retreat!"

"Shove it!" he barked back. "I'm not going to let any more of my allies die! All planes, you have permission to tank; leave the battle zone!"

"Roger that!" a Yuke pilot said in total relief, not caring that he would be disobeying the real leaders. The remaining planes got out as fast as they could. Miller knew he had made a mistake by ordering the allies to pull out, but he didn't care and it would pay off in the long run. Many planes were lost; however, some of the pilots hit by the shockwave managed to eject, and sixty percent of the allied planes had survived. It was at once a total victory and total defeat and it left a bitter taste in the ace's mouth.

* * *

Time: 1400 hours

Dracut woods, Wellow

Flynn and his new battalion had just been deployed to the woods outside of Dracut, the same place where he had fought in the civil war years before. His new recruits were top notch. In the past week, they had fought twice against the Estovakians, and they won both of the battles. They had had much training, but little combat experience. However, Flynn still had some men left over from his old unit, and that was always great for moral support. If nothing else, the younger soldiers had people to look up to. They loved hearing stories about Flynn's time during the civil war. He told them about the battle of the Adwan Peninsula, where the 106th held out for three days against Foxhound forces before reinforcements arrived. He told them about the assault on Piernon fortress, an event which ultimately helped decided the outcome of the war.

As they walked through the muck, Flynn stepped on a branch that snapped like a gunshot. Rusto, on his right side, a couple yards away, and Walker, on his left, both started at the sudden noise. Flynn checked his weapon, checking the magazine and seeing he had about half a clip left. He loaded a fresh one, just to be on the safe side. He took the other magazine and stuffed it in his rucksack. As he walked, Flynn also checked his AG36 grenade launcher: the safety was on, and a grenade was loaded.

One of his troops, a young man by the name Brian Paolo, approached Flynn with a unit status report.

"Uh sir?" he asked, looking hesitant.

"Yes? What is it soldier?"

"Sir, some of the men are getting tired, and a couple have reported sinuous infections and well, they want a rest."

Flynn took a second to think. It was time for a break. After all, what was the point in being a leader, hell, even _fighting_ if his men were all dead on their feet?

"All right men!" he shouted. "Everyone gets an hour to rest!" Almost all of his men set their bags and weapons on the ground and fell asleep without so much as a heartfelt sigh.

"I'm not tired," Walker said to Flynn. "I'll keep watch for enemies."

"Whatever you want, man," said Flynn as he laid his head down on his bag, dropping off almost the moment he hit.

* * *

Time: 1501 hours

It seemed like he had just closed his eyes a second ago, but the hour had passed and they had to move on. Flynn arose from his position, picked up his rifle, and went to a nearby tree to take a leak. As he was doing so, he heard a sound in the distance, a deep rumbling that didn't seem natural. It sounded like vehicles. He zipped up, took out his binoculars, and saw what was happening in the distance; it was an enemy task force; a whole battalion. They must have been returning from an operation.

"Shit!" he cursed to himself while running over to Walker, who had fallen asleep on the job.

"Allen, wake up!" he barked.

"Whoa! What's going on?" the soldier asked, his hand groping blindly for his gun, but Flynn didn't answer. Instead he was getting ready for the battle that was about to ensue.

"Everyone up!" he shouted. The battalion arose from their resting areas and looked to Flynn.

"Come on! We got enemies advancing from the east! Lock and load!" His men scrambled to their feet, readied their weapons and took up defensive positions. Flynn cocked his G36C and took cover behind a fallen tree, along with Rusto, Walker, and three other troopers. Aside from the trees and piles of broken branches, there was almost no cover available. It was going to be a long and bloody battle.

"Sniper team, go back fifty yards and start firing,"

"Roger that, sir; we're on it!" A two-man sniper team, comprised of a shooter and a spotter, went back and went prone. They set up their equipment, and were ready for combat.

Flynn aimed his rifle downrange. The Stovies had some vehicles with them, but mostly they were trucks, or Hummers. By the looks of things, they didn't know about the Wellan battalion's position.

"Hold!" Rusto ordered. Another ten seconds passed before Flynn gave the order.

"Open fire!" A wave of armor piecing rounds was fired at the enemy, along with some grenades. The Stovies quickly dove for cover and began fighting back, the discordant chatter of rifle and automatic fire filling the air. Flynn's sniper team started picking off Stovies who weren't behind cover, or who were stupid enough to get up from cover. A young soldier who was right next to Flynn received a bullet to the head, and fell over on his side. Rob turned the man over, and took his dog tags. The kid's family would want them.

The enemy vehicles began to fire, their light machine guns tearing lines in the ground as they swept the area, trying to keep Flynn's men behind cover. The sniper team spotted the gunners, and picked them off one by one. Two enemy troopers ran from their hiding spot, and got up closer to the Wellan defensive line. One soldier fired his rifle, killed another one of Flynn's men, before being taken out by Allen.

"For fuck's sake!" Allen cried in frustration as Flynn himself popped the second guy in the head, dropping him like a sack of wet cement. "How many are there!?" Flynn shot wildly, not bothering to find a target and didn't answer.

"Where's our radio op?" Rusto shouted, looking around for anyone with a radio. He spotted one.

"You; get over here!" he commanded. The young woman ran to Rusto's position, while simultaneously dodging gunfire from the front. She slid into the tree, and got up against it.

"What's your name?" Rusto asked.

"Kerry Shaw, sir," she replied with a bit of nervousness in her voice.

"You have a radio?"

"Yes, sir; its right here!" she said as she took it out. It was a long-range radio, used by the ground forces stationed on distant battlefields to call for support.

"Headquarters, this is Lt Colonel Rusto, of the 106th battalion; we're pinned down by enemy forces in the Dracut woods; requesting an airstrike."

"Copy that, Colonel," the man on the other end replied. "What's the package?"

"We've got Stovie infantry, and a few fighting vehicles; it's not much, but we need to take them out."

"Copy that, we're gonna send a couple of Strike Eagles, Copy?"

"Copy, tell them they're cleared in hot, Rusto, out." He gave the radio back to Shaw, who was still pressed against the tree. He grabbed Flynn's shoulder, and shouted into his ear, trying to be heard over the racket.

"They're sending F-15's; we just gotta hold out a little longer!"

"Alright, lets give em' hell!" Another ten minutes of combat saw eleven of Flynn's troops being killed. Meanwhile, about ten miles out, the two Strike Eagles entered the combat zone.

"Command, this is Regale one; tally-ho on the enemy targets. Moving to support allied forces."

"Roger that, Regale one, you are cleared hot; fire at will." The two F-15E's soared over the land, readying their weapons as they did.

"Pickle!" The two planes both dropped a pair of CBU-87 bombs, which, needless to say, annihilated the Stovie forces. The planes circled around to confirm and make sure that the enemy was well and truly dead, and proceeded back to their base, the roar of their engines fading within seconds.

"Pilots, that was perfect!" Flynn called over the radio, rather enthusiastically. "Thanks for the help; we'll be moving on."

"It's what we do," the pilot replied. "Mission complete, returning to base." After a quick mop-up of the remaining enemy forces, the 106th reported back to their base, saying they had just destroyed an enemy unit. A group of MH-53's arrived on the scene a few hours later, and the day was finally over.

* * *

Time: 1700 hours

Location: Fort Anderson, Osea

The allied planes returned, and although this was a victory, it was a hollow one. Most of the pilots who'd gone out hadn't come back. It was estimated that over thirty allied planes were downed, and almost eighty percent of the ground forces had been destroyed. The enemy had a new Super Weapon up their sleeves and Miller could tell it was gonna be tormenting the allies throughout the course of the entire war unless someone did something about it. He really wished that the Razgriz or Mobius Squadron was still around

Hawk Eyes was landing, the massive E-3 Sentry rolling down the large strip of asphalt and leaving skid marks on the way, taking up almost every inch of the runway as it tried to bring itself to a stop. Commander Charles stormed out of the nearest building, and judging by the look on his face, he was not happy.

"Damn it, Miller!" he shouted, getting in the pilot's face. "Who the hell do you think you are?! Ordering a retreat? You do NOT have that kind of authority, do you hear me!? If you ever pull a stunt like this again, I'll have your ass court-martialed and thrown in prison for the rest of your life! Do you understand me!?"

Miller simply nodded his head, and the Commander stormed away in a rage. But he didn't care. Miller knew that deep down he had made the right decision. Thanks to him, more pilots had survived, which was going to pay off one day. Haverson was biting his lower lip, standing just a few feet away from Steven.

"You did the right thing, man," he said with soft sympathy.

"Thanks, I know I did," Miller sighed. "But what the hell was that explosion?"

"Do the Stovies have a new Super Weapon?"

"We don't know yet," Ruth said as she walked up, Sam at her side. "But whatever it was, it can only mean one thing; trouble."

"Did we get a report on ground force casualties?" Jacob asked, looking at the others.

"So far, we estimate that over eighty percent of the allied ground forces participating in the operation were lost." The reply was met with shock from the members of Angel squadron.

"Why does something tell me it's not the last time we're gonna see that weapon?" Miller asked.

* * *

Time: 2200 hours

Maximum Security Facility, Oured

Kristovonich had been in his holding cell for some time now. He was sitting there, with his arms crossed. The Osean Marines had been interrogating him for days now, but Kristo gave them no information. He was an Estovakian General, there was no way they were going to break him.

Major Henry Oritz of the OSDF walked into the detention area, escorted by two other guards. One of his Marines took out a key and unlocked Kristo's cell door. Kristo looked upward at them, almost surprised.

"Let's go," said Oritz as the other Marine handcuffed Kristo. They walked down the hall into the interrogation room. The Marine threw Kristo into the chair and Oritz sat down on the other side of the table. He took his Desert Eagle out its holster and placed it on the table.

"Something happened to our forces today," Ortiz said. "They were attacked by some sort of new weapon." Kristo grinned and kept silent.

"What do you know?" Oritz asked while glaring at the General. Kristo simply sat in his place, stone silent. Major Oritz got up for a second and slammed Kristo's head on the metal desk, not caring about humanitarian rules and that kind of shit. Interrogation was a field where you couldn't get results and wear the white hat.

"Don't play games with me, General!" Oritz shouted. "Tell me!" Kristovonich spit in the Major's face.

"You really think you're gonna get ANY information out of me?" he asked in a sarcastic voice. "You have nothing the threaten me with! You can't do a thing to make me talk." Oritz, livid, picked the General up from the collar on his jump suit.

"Tell me what I need to know, or I'll give you a cut you won't believe and any hope you had of having grandchildren someday goes right out the window." Oritz took out a large dagger, and held it up to the General's face. Kristo licked the knife.

"Go ahead, try it. You still won't get anything." Just as Oritz was about to cut the General, the ceiling exploded and sent debris on the floor. Belkan soldiers wearing black-clad gear and wielding  
Styer Aug A3's fast roped down from the massive hole in the ceiling, guns chattering, killing the two Marines, and Oritz. Kristovonich dusted himself off, and got up and held his cuffed arms out to the Belkan team leader. The leader un-cuffed Kristo and took out a .44 Magnum revolver.

"Here you go, sir," he said as he handed it to the General. The officer opened the revolver, spun the drum, and pushed it back into place.

"Let's get out of here." Outside the facility, two Belkan Z-8A Helicopters awaited Kristovonich's arrival. One of his officers, Hans Leipen was outside the chopper.

"It's good to see you again, General," he said.

"Good to see you too, Hans," Kristo replied.

"We should get out of here before Osean Forces arrive." The Belkan soldiers got into the chopper, along with Kristo and Hans. The Z-8A's lifted off, headed for Belkan territory. Kristo was in command again; and he had a plan.

* * *

Chapter nine is done. Sorry about the long wait; I actually went and rewrote this chapter. I wasn't happy the way the first version came out, so I decided to change it. And I was suffering from writers block throughout the course of the month. So that's it for chapter nine. As always, read, review, and I'll see you next time.

Credits

James Tobin: Concept/Ideas

Thomas John: Events/Dialogue

Wingedfreedom622: Proofreading/Editing


	10. White Knuckles

Authors Note: There's a small reference to Ace Combat Zero in this chapter. You may recognize it when you start reading.

Time: 1200 hours

Location: Tango Line, Usea

Date: December 13th 2025

An ISAF F/A-18E arced for the ground, and pulled up, while an Erusian pilot chased after him, fired off a series of tracers before the Hornet pilot led the enemy straight into the middle of a massive furball. It was a gargantuan air battle taking place over the Tango Line, one of ISAF's most important defensive positions. There had to be at least thirty planes on each side, effectively making it one of the biggest dogfights in history. In the past week, ISAF forces had been pushed back and were desperately losing ground. If it had just been Erusea, it wouldn't have been a problem, except the Erusian forces were being backed by the Estovakian Army.

ISAF: F-16C, F/A-18E, F-14A, R-M01, F-15-ACTIVE, F-22A.  
Erusea: J-10, J-11, SU-30, EF-2000 SU-47, MIG 1.44.

Mobius Three, a man by the name Carl Jackson, had taken over command of the Mobius Squadron ever since Rainer had been killed. Since the war began, Born of the Ruins had hunted down and killed several Mobius Squadron members. Only five remained. He observed the situation. The enemy fighters were everywhere. When ISAF heard that the Tango Line was attacked, they sent a vast number of their air-superiority fighters in an effort to secure the line and hold back the opposing forces. Carl was beginning to find himself in a tight spot. He had brought forty planes with him; now only thirty remained and that number was going down every minute. He was high in the sky in his F-22, observing the battle below. He rolled to the left, went inverted, and dove straight into the chaos.

He pulled hard out of the dive and locked onto an enemy SU-30 firing a Sidewinder before he even knew what he was doing, the missile slamming into the Flanker's fuselage, leaving nothing but the cockpit, and two ejecting pilots. All around, fighters were being downed. Explosions littered the airspace above, and tracers could be seen for miles in every direction. Mobius Six, Jonathan Lavalta, who was also flying an F-22, joined up behind Carl's Raptor.

"Lead!" he called in a panic. "There's too many of them; what're we gonna do!?"

"Calm down, Mobius Six," Jackson replied trying to calm the frantic pilot. "Keep your head on straight, and don't let the enemy scare you."

"Alright," he replied, breathing heavily. "I'll try again."

"Let's just take 'em out one at a time." Jonathan broke hard right and Carl once again found his target. It was a J-11 fighter, a plane that was native to Clavis and Verusa.

'How the hell did Erusea get their hands on those?' he asked himself. Erusea must have had good ties with the two countries. Not even Estovakia had J-11's. The enemy plane began to climb, in pursuit of an ISAF R-M01. Carl shoved the throttle forward and the afterburners lit up like a meteor in the night sky. In hot pursuit of his chosen target, Carl fired his cannon at the J-11. He wasn't trying to hit the bandit, just trying to spook him, and get him off of the other pilot's tail, which he did the moment the tracers rippled past the J-11. When the R-M01 pilot realized he was no longer being chased, he made it a point to thank Jackson.

"Mobius Three; thanks for getting that guy off my tail," he said.

"Not a problem," Jackson replied. "Keep your head on a swivel; this battle isn't over yet."

Mobius Four, a woman with the name Madalyn Nicole had just finished off another bandit, and was about to move on. She was flying an F-15-Active. On the right wing was a rose wrapped around a Desert Eagle.

"This is Lilly, splash one enemy fighter!" she called, quite pleased with her performance. Madalyn was one of the younger members of Mobius, having just been inducted two years earlier. Her skills were exceptional, and she was a very good listener, having never disobeyed an order in her entire career.

"Lilly!" Jonathan shouted. "That's great, now get over here and cover me!"

"Roger that, I'm on my way!" she replied, not letting the annoyance she felt with the other pilot get to her. Jonathan was an ass to her, but right now she couldn't afford to be angry at him. It would only get in the way of her mission and possibly lead to her death. She would yell at him afterwards. Madalyn peeled off and re-joined with Lavalta.

"Follow my lead," he said as they banked left. There were three bandits, all in Berkuts.

"Lilly, lets cut into their formation and separate them," Lavalta suggested.

"Copy," Madalyn replied. "Lead the way."

"I'll take the one in front." Madalyn armed an AMRAAM and picked her target.

"Mobius Four, Fox Three!" she called, letting the missile loose. Jonathan fired his missile at the lead Berkut. The missiles flew into the distance, chasing after the Erusian pilots. However, the Berkuts saw the missiles coming, and broke away to evade.

"Damn it!" Madalyn exclaimed, pissed off at the sudden turn of events. "Those bastards dodged our shots!"

"Yeah, well we won't miss again," Lavalta announced firewalling the throttle, barrel-rolling, and heading straight for the Berkuts.

Madalyn let out a sigh. 'Show off,' she said to her self. She armed another ARMRAAM and fired, this time one of the SU-47's bursting into flames as the missile slammed into it like a runaway freight train.

"Damn it! I'm hit! This is Red Seven, punching out!" Madalyn saw the glow of the explosion as the enemy pilot pulled the ejection handle and was shot out of his plane. She only hoped that a search and rescue team would find him and he would be okay. Her heart felt sad when she shot down a plane and the pilot didn't eject. She didn't enjoy ending other people's lives, but in a time of conflict, there was no other option. It was kill or be killed. Clamping down on her feelings, she banked hard right to back up Jonathan. Somehow, the bandit he was chasing had gotten behind him, and now the hunter had become the hunted.

"Lilly!" he cried over the radio. "He's on my tail! Get him off me!"

"You're a whinny little runt!" she protested, sort of annoyed with the turn of events. What good was it being an ace if you can't keep your own six clear? "Hold on, I'll clear your six." Madalyn shoved her Super Eagle into position, getting in behind the bandit. The piper was right on the mark; she fired, tracers swarming out of her cannon like a hive of bees, tearing the Berkut into pieces, and turning it into nothing more than a fireball.

'Please bail out,' Madalyn said to herself as she watched the Berkut fall. But the plane kept falling, and eventually smashed into the ground; the pilot never got out. She felt a great pain within her heart as she stared at the smoldering wreckage. It was times like these that she wished the world was at peace. Wars were so pointless in her mind. She joined the ISAF in the hopes of becoming a stronger person and fighting for her country. But she had no idea that this was what she would have to face on a daily basis. In her trance, an enemy J-10 had gotten almost straight up her tail.

"Lilly, look out!" Jonathan called. The bandit fired his cannon at Madalyn's Super Eagle, tearing holes in the left wing, making it look like metallic Swiss cheese, smoke billowing from the injured fighter. She pulled the fighter into a Cobra, the airframe vibrating like it wanted to come apart as it tried to peel left but she kept the stricken Eagle straight and the bandit over-shot her. She got back into position, and fired her last AIM-9. The missile slid off the rail under her right wing, and the motor ignited. The short-range missile slammed into the J-10, and the fighter blew up. Luckily, the pilot foresaw that he would never be able to evade, and ejected. Madalyn let out a sigh of relief, knowing that the man was still alive.

Jackson came in from below, leveling out with Madalyn's fighter.

"Lilly, you've been shot up pretty badly," he said. "Take vector one-eight-zero home and RTB immediately."

"But sir, I can still fight," she protested, even as she held in almost all the right aileron to try and keep level, not wanting to abandon her allies, who at this point in time needed all the help they could get.

"Lilly, there's no sense in staying in the hot zone with your plane all shot up. Now I am ordering you to leave the battle zone."

"Warning, new contacts coming in fast!" another pilot announced, a tiny bit of anxiety in his tone. "Eight bogeys, coming in at Mach 2, bearing two, seven, zero; range, ten miles."

"Does anyone have a visual?" Jackson asked.

"I got 'em!" Lavalta announced. "Looks like, eight MIG 1.44's."

Across the battlefield, the eight Mikoyan demonstrator aircraft were preparing to enter the fray.

"Eclipse Leader to all units; break formation and destroy enemy aircraft."

"This is Eclipse Seven to Eclipse Lead, are there really Mobius Squadron craft here?"

"That's what the intelligence said, so stay alert."

"Copy that; turning to engage enemy aircraft." The eight-ship formation broke apart, each of the pilots turning to go after a separate target.

"AWACS," Jackson called concern clear in his voice. "Give us our orders!" There was a slight pause before the AWACS replied back.

"Mobius Three, we can't authorize a full retreat," he replied. "However, all damaged aircraft, as well as those who need fuel and ammo, are to return to base immediately."

Instantly, fifteen planes changed vector and headed for the south. Lavalta, Madalyn, and the two other Mobius squadron craft pulled up behind Jackson.

"What're we gonna do, Lead?" Madalyn asked. Jackson paused.

"Let's fuck 'em up," he replied. "All Mobius squadron craft, you have permission to engage; shoot down those bandits."

"Wilco! Let's go!" Lavalta called, breaking away and going after his first target. The other Mobius aircraft followed suit and within seconds, the battle was joined and began anew.  


* * *

1210 hours

Ceres Ocean

December 13th, 2025

Angel Squadron was patrolling the skies over the ocean. The weather was all but bad; blue skies and clear water for as far as the eye could see. According to the weather boys, the nearest storm was a hundred miles to the southwest. Miller was flying alone, the other members of his squadron patrolling other areas. Jenkins was in the backseat again, though this time he seemed a little bit talkative. As it turns out, the Ace had a lot in common with Jenkins. For one, they both liked heavy metal and they both had had rough childhoods. Jenkins was telling Miller a story about how he and his friends once almost got caught with marijuana.

"So then, my friend throws the bag out the window over the bridge. That was fifty bucks worth of weed, gone!" Miller chuckled at the story, although when he was young, he generally stayed away from that stuff. Weed was pointless in his eyes.

He banked right, and sped up just a little bit. There were no contacts on radar, but Miller still kept his guard up. As a fighter pilot, staying alert was crucial, no matter what the situation was.

After another half-hour of patrol, Hawkeyes broke through the radio. "Angel squadron, your patrol mission is over; well done."

"Thank God!" Haverson broke in, the relief in his voice so apparent it was almost obnoxious. "Finally, I thought this mission was never gonna end!"

"Well, someone's gotta do it," Jacob said while pulling up to Haverson's right. Michael wasn't the only pilot who hated patrol operations. Miller hated them just as much as the next guy, he'd simply learned to deal with it.

As the others formed up behind Miller, another allied squadron was approaching from the front. "Angel squadron, this is Viper lead; we'll take over from here."

"Wilco," Miller replied. "Angel squadron withdrawing from operation airspace." The other squadron passed by just a few yards to the left. The four Rafale M's banked and split up.

Angel flight flew for another two hours, followed by a mid-air refueling, and another hour. Finally, they entered the airspace above Fort Anderson.

"Tower, this is Angel one," Miller said. "Requesting permission to land." As usual there was a pause, followed by the control tower's response.

"Angel Squadron, cleared to short final and land in formation." Miller was thrown off by that, even as he rattled back the clearance. They wanted them all to land at the same time?

"Any particular reason, control?" he asked.

"Yes. Air Marshal McCarthy is here to examine our base activities, and wants to see our Ace squadron in action." Miller paused. Never in his life did he expect to be visited by an Air Marshal. High command was _really_ taking notice of them.

"Wilco," Miller finally responded. "We'll show off for him." Sure enough, the five-ship lined up, two elements then the lone fifth ship landing with a precision that would make a surgeon jealous. Miller could hear the tires screeching as they rolled down the runway. Finally, they came to a halt, just in time to taxi and enter the hangars.

"Impressive, Angel Team," the controller said with quiet satisfaction. The squadron pulled their fighters to the sides, shut down and stepped out of their craft. They all met up in the briefing room, and sat down. Charles was on the sides talking to a tall, middle-aged man with gray hair and slightly wrinkled skin. This man was Air Marshal McCarthy, who was one of the most respected members of the Osean Air Defense Force. In his glory days he was an Ace. That was way back in the Circum-Pacific war. Now all these years later, he had been called back into action to bolster troop moral.

"Pilots," Charles said as he noticed Angel Flight's pilots entering the room. "This is Air Marshal McCarthy. He's come here to look at our base activities and recommend some of our squadrons for frontline service." It made sense. The army was launching into Estovakia in a few weeks. They would need all the people they could get.

"So this is the 'ace squadron' we keep hearing so much about?" McCarthy asked, skeptical.

"Yes sir," Charles replied. "They're the ones." McCarthy examined the aces for a quick second. He didn't seem that convinced.

"I've seen the gun-camera footage taken for your last few sorties," McCarthy said. "You people are good, but you're no Razgriz. Not by a long shot. I'll be watching you, though." With that said, he walked away, moving on to inspect other units.

"What an asshole," Sam said. The other's head's whipped around so fast they almost fell over. Sam actually spoke for once.

"Holy crap, you can talk!" Haverson jokingly blurted out.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "It's not that hard." The remark was followed by chuckling by the entire group. As they we're conversing, Immeram and Ivan approached from behind, the expressions on their faces were rather serious.

"Well, friends," Immeram said. "We're being sent back home."

"You are? Why?" Ruth asked disappointment clear.

"Things aren't going so well in the south, so we're being sent back to the frontlines to maybe change the odds in our favor."

"I'm guessing Verusa and Clavis are putting up stiff resistance," Miller said.

"Yeah, and the Sotoans aren't helping much either," Ivan replied. "So we have to go babysit the nuggets for a while."

"Well good luck to you," Miller said.

"You too, Steven," Immeram replied. "Until we meet again." The two Yukes saluted Angel flight. It was returned, and Immeram and Ivan headed back for their fighters. Angel Flight watched as the Flankers, as well as three other squadrons took off, headed for Yuktobania. However, it would not be the last time Miller would see those pilots.

Miller got out of his gear, put on fresh clothing, and returned to the barracks. When he walked into the room, there was an envelope on the desk. He picked it up; it was for him. He opened it up, and inside was a letter from Gina.

_Steven,_

_I have made it to Directus. You were right; the enemy is nowhere near here. I should be safe for now. The ride here was long, and I saw some Army battalions along the way. You might not believe this, but Directus is actually a pretty nice city. There are still people living here. This elderly couple has taken me in and they're letting me stay in their house. I hope you're doing alright for yourself. Stay alive for me just a little longer, baby. I miss you so much.  
Much love, _

_Gina. _

Steven folded the letter up and exhaled. It was a huge relief to know that she was safe. That being said, he needed some rest. He walked over to the bed, flopped down and fell asleep even before he'd hit the pillow.  


* * *

1220 hours

Anfang, North Belka

Kristovonich and Leipen were escorted into a meeting boardroom to discuss a new plan of action against the allies. Kristo sat down, Hans on his right, and a Belkan army commander on his left.

"Okay, Hans," Kristo said. "Let's begin."

"We have two options, sir," Leipen replied. "I can have a task force assembled in twenty four hours for another attack. It would be a difficult fight, but we'd be able to get another foothold on Osea."

"And what's the second plan?" Kristo asked.

"We let _them_ come to _us_," Hans replied. "Chances are, the Oseans will combine forces with the Wellan Armies and take a crack at the Norde Islands. What we could do is set up a defensive perimeter in and around the islands using our ships. Now, here's where things get interesting."

"Go on."

"Our fleet will purposely loose the battle. When the allies think they've won, we'll hit them with the Mortivore. We estimate there will be quite a few ships, so this will be a huge blow to their offensive power. The allies will be so demoralized, they'll barely be able to fight back. And _then_ we launch another invasion."

Kristovonich considered this. It was a solid plan. It'd be a massive blow to the allied morale, and their military strength as a whole. Although it was the best plan of action, Kristo didn't like the idea of using his men as a sacrifice. Every life was valuable. No one person mattered more than another. Be it Corporal or General, it didn't matter. But it had to be done. For the pride of Estovakia, it had to be done.

"Okay, Hans," Kristo finally replied, resignation in his voice. "Begin mobilizing the 2nd and 4th fleets for immediate deployment. Have the Mortivore on standby and tell them to begin orbital repositioning immediately."

"Yes, General Kristovonich," Hans said, turning to exit the room. Kristo walked outside. There was an airstrip, as well as a camp for the Belkan Army troops. On the sides were SU-27's and MIG-29's, the very backbone of the Belkan Air Force, as well as other craft like F-16's and A-10A's. Although Belka wasn't the powerhouse it was back in 1995, it still had a considerable amount of military strength, and still had one of the best pilot training programs on the planet.

Kristo heard a distant roar to the east. He looked over to see eight black/red camouflage SU-37 Terminators land on the runway. Only Estovakia's best pilots got to give their planes custom paint-schemes. He knew exactly who they were. The Estovakian Air Force 370th Air Wing, 9th Tactical Fighter Squadron, better known as the Strigon team, the elite ace squadron from the Emmerian/Estovakian war, and a force to be reckoned with. They were the best pilots on the Anean continent, Estovakia's finest. Only the best of the best pilots in the EAF qualified to be Strigon team members, and the role required one to have at least two thousand hours of flight time, or ten confirmed air-to-air kills. The fighters taxied to the side, one behind the other. They proudly bore the mighty Reapers emblem on their craft, which glistened in the sun. Soon the engine noise degenerated into a low whine and then the pilots began to step out. The Strigon Leader was a man by the name Ilya Pasternak, who was thought to have died during the Liberation of Gracemeria, but miraculously survived when he was able to eject, only seconds before his fighter exploded. Ilya was about forty years old, with a large scar on the left side of his face, left over from the explosion. He wore a scowl, and was a little taller than average. His number two was Toscha Mijasik, another ace from the old war.

Kristovonich walked down to greet them. The Belkan pilots all stared as Ilya and Toscha entered the hangar, the other members of Strigon team checking their craft and consulting the maintenance crews.

"Welcome back, Lt. Commander," Kristo said to Ilya, who sat down and lit up a cigarette. He inhaled, blew out, and flipped the lid of his Zippo lighter closed, putting it in his pocket, blatantly ignoring the 'no smoking' signs posted all around.

"It's good to be back, General," Pasternak replied while exhaling another puff of smoke. "Anyway, you called us all the way here, so it must be important."

"And it is. I have a _very_ important mission for you, Lt. Commander; and seeing as you've never failed me in the past, I thought you and your team would be best for the job." Kristovonich continued,

"I want you and your team to lead an attack on Heirlark airbase, which is a few miles east of here."

"Tell me more," Ilya replied.

"If we destroy Heirlark, the allies will have lost a very important strategic position, and will be left venerable. Then we have another straight shot into the country."

"You intend to invade Osea using the Belkan army?" Ilya asked, skeptical.

"Not quite," Kristo replied. "There is another plan on top of it, and we'll be backed by the Erusian military." Ilya listened to Kristo's words. If anyone could get the job done, it was the Strigon team.

"Then, you have another mission," Kristo said. "The Leasathians, being the incompetent bastards that they are, have failed to capture any Aurelian territory since the war began. I want you and your team to accompany them on their next attack, which will take place on 20th."

"Looks like we're gonna be busy this month," Ilya said. He took one final puff of his cigarette, and flicked it to the ground, grinding it into the concrete with his boot. He stood up, and walked over to Kristovonich. Ilya licked his lips.

"After this is over, I want out," Pasternak said. "I've had it with flying; I'm tired of constantly getting called back into action, only to go out and shoot down a few rookies, who pose little to no threat. After this war's over, I'm done."

"You go it," Kristo replied, blankly. "You just do your job and do it well. Then you'll get your retirement."

Ilya walked away, back to his fighter. Kristovonich watched with his hands folded behind his back as Ilya headed away. He knew Ilya would get his job done. He may have been tired of flying, but he would still put his heart and soul into the mission. He was damn good at what he did.

All the pieces were falling into place. The allies may have thought the worst was over, but they were _dead_ wrong. And now that the Strigon team had been reassembled, the air war was pretty much over. Kristovonich's onslaught hadn't even begun yet. There was still plenty of war to fight, and it was going to be bloody, and relentless.  


* * *

1205 hours

Tango Line, Usea

The Mobius squadron, as well as any other ISAF planes still able to fight, began to engage the remaining Erusian forces. The team of MIG-1.44's that had shown up a little while ago proved to be quite a challenge for the Mobius pilots.

"Dammit, I can't get a lock!" Lavalta said, grunting as he chased after an Eclipse squadron plane at high speeds, whipping through S-turns at speeds that were more often than not supersonic. Jackson, whilst pursuing an Erusian SU-30, caught sight of an Eclipse pilot. Jackson, deciding that these new arrivals should be dealt with first, pulled up wards, dove and leveled with the Mikoyan fighter, letting off hot rounds from his cannon as he did.

"Splash one enemy fighter!" he called while the MIG caught fire and was engulfed in flames. Carl then flipped his Raptor on its back and dove again. By this time, the ally to enemy ratio was incredibly unbalanced; four enemies to one ally. Although the Tango Line was a very important strategic position, the ISAF couldn't afford to lose any more pilots. If they pulled out now, they would cut casualties in half and have more pilots to fight another day. Not only that, but now Carl was low on fuel and ammo. There was no point in flying a fighter with an empty stomach and no teeth.

"AWACS," he called. "We can't hold out any longer; requesting permission to retreat!" Jackson heard the AWACS sigh.

"Dammit… I guess there's no other option," he replied, rather dissatisfied. "All aircraft have permission to exit combat airspace; mission failed."

Any remaining ISAF planes changed vector and began to return to base, scattering to give the enemy a harder target.

"I can't believe it," Madalyn said as she pulled up to Carl's left side, a few yards away. "We lost; those unbelievable bastards beat us…"

"Don't worry," another pilot said. "This is only temporary. We'll get it back eventually."

Madalyn paused.

"I sure hope so…"

* * *

Ehh, not my best chapter ever, but still okay in my opinion. Hope you enjoyed, and I'm sorry about the wait.

Credits

James Tobin: Concept/Ideas

Thomas John: Events/Dialogue

Wingedfreedom622: Proofreading/Editing


	11. Warbirds, Part one

Authors note: OHH MY GOD I KNOW THIS IS MAD LATE I'M REALLY SORRY!!! Any way, I put quite a pit of work into this one, so I hope it'll compensate for the long wait. Enjoy!

0700 hours

Fort Anderson, Osea

December 17th, 2025

Miller had just finished getting ready and was now in the mess hall enjoying some breakfast with the others. There were ten pilots at the table, all the pilots of Angel squadron, and their navigators. Haverson's navigator was a young kid named Charles Winston. Jacob's was a woman named Vaciliya Rios, who strangely enough was half Osean, and half Sapinish. Ruth's navigator was another woman named Jordan Whiteford. And Sam's navigator was a man named George Silano.

Miller had quickly grown accustomed to his Super Tomcat. He loved almost everything about it. It handled superbly, it had a nice ride, and was maneuverable enough if flown right, not to mention fast as hell and carrier-based. Sure, requiring two people to pilot the damn thing was a pain in the ass, and Miller preferred the convenience of a single-man cockpit, but in this case, the good out-weighed the bad. He also liked the array of weapons that the F-14D was compatible with; those Phoenix missiles were life-savers during long range combat. The fighter had a bunch of weapon configurations, and it just looked cool. The rest of his teammates felt the same way for the most part. The OMDF almost de-commissioned the plane back in 2006, but decided to keep it in service asking "Why waste a perfectly good fighter?"

Air Marshall McCarthy had finished his inspection and had Angel squadron recommended for a carrier group. The squadron was officially being transferred to the Osean Maritime Defense Force. They were leaving later that day at 1200 hours to meet up with other OMDF units to land on the Aircraft carrier Aphrodite. They would fly out, meet up with the tanker Land Shark, and get qualified on the carrier a few hours later. Their planes were being re-painted to the Osean standard gunmetal gray, as were all the F-14D's in the Osean arsenal. For some reason the F-14A pilots were getting upset because their planes didn't have the unique camouflage design that came standard on the D-variant. It was upsetting and would cost a lot of money to repaint all of them, but it would put an end to another pointless issue, so it had to be done. No matter what the issue was, the last thing Osea needed was upset pilots.

Miller bit into his sandwich. He was on his second serving. They were all chowing down, getting ready for the long trip ahead of them. They would be leaving for the Northern Ceres Ocean at 1200 hours, and wouldn't arrive at the Carrier until 2100 that night. Once they landed on the Aphrodite, they would meet up with the Harling battle group the next day, and then rendezvous with the Wellan Navy 2nd fleet. Yuktobania was also contributing to the operation. They would be sending a few ships in, as well as one of their Admiral Kuznetsov-class aircraft carriers. There was even a rumor going around that they would be sending a new Scinfaxi carrier, but the details were sketchy at best and laughable at worst.

As they were eating, the base speakers came to life, and a young woman's voice came through.

"Attention Angel squadron," she said. "Please report to the briefing room for an important assignment."

"Well, the peace was fun while it lasted," Haverson said as he got up from his seat. The pilots ran for the briefing room, and sat down. Charles was once again consulted by his advisor and the briefing began.

"Listen up!" He said. "We've received orders for an emergency sortie. An air battle is taking place as we speak above Heirlark airbase, near the border between Osea and Belka. Our forces at Heirlark came under attack a few minutes ago and have taken massive losses from Belkan fighters. What's worse is that we suspect that an elite Estovakian squadron may be there with them. Angel squadron is to scramble immediately, and reinforce our forces at Heirlark. I wish you luck; now go get em', boys!"

Angel flight bolted from their seats threw on their gear and ran for their fighters. The aces ran for hangar 6B and climbed into their newly painted Super Tomcats. Once again, equipped with the standard loadout, and quickly running through the start up sequences, the five-ship pulled out of the hangars and onto the runway.

"Control tower, this is Angel one," Miller said. "Holding short of the active."

"Roger, Angel one; cleared for takeoff; fly runway heading then resume own navigation."

Angel flight roared down the runway, taking off in string-formation, and circling around to the east. They lined up in V formation behind Miller. Behind them, four F/A-18E's and four F-2A's joined up.

"Angel squadron this is Joker lead," said the lead pilot of the F-2 squadron. "We're going with you."

"Let us lead the way," Miller said, semi-enthusiastically. The three squadrons flew at max thrust to the east, stopping to refuel in mid-air, and then continuing again.

After a good three hour flight, the fighter wing began an approach to Heirlark. Miller began signaling the base for a situation report.

"Attention Heirlark base, this is the Osean Air Defense Force 5th air division 203rd tactical fighter squadron, callsign, Angel, do you read?" There was a message coming through. It was mostly static, but Miller could make out some of it.

"Warning; heavy ECM's; we're currently on code red alert!" It was a message from the control tower to the units stationed at the base. Miller could make out explosions in the distance. Missile contrails and tracer rounds were blanketing the skies.

"There they are!" Jacob said. "Let's take care of business!"

"I'm with you on that!" Joker three said over the com.

"Angel team, you have clearance to engage; splash all hostile aircraft," Miller said while snapping on his mask. The five-ship broke away from one another, all of them releasing a single Phoenix missile as they dove into the chaos. Miller's missile slammed into a Belkan SU-27, sending the aircraft plummeting earthward, and he moved on to another target.

"Who the hell are those guys?" an allied pilot asked. "Are they the reinforcements?"

"Thank god!" another pilot exhaled. "Our support is here! A-allied pilots, can you read me?" he asked in a panic.

"Copy that, please state your squadron number and callsign," Sam ordered.

"This is First Lt. Edelmann of the OADF 67th air division, callsign Savage! We need some support over here!"

"Can do," Joker leader announced while firing an AIM-9 at a Belkan F-16. "Leave it to us." The three squadrons broke apart, all of them entering the fray. Miller descended into a barrel roll, letting off tracers at a MIG-29, tearing holes in the fuselage. The ace analyzed the situation. The sky was blanketed by a thick layer of cloud, and the snow was falling. Tracers spewed from AA artillery on the ground as the base personnel attempted to shoot down some of the enemy fighters. Once again, the situation was the same. The allies were outnumbered and losing ground. Miller shoved the throttle forward and began taking out enemy targets. The chaotic frenzy of frantic com chatter served as a backdrop for the fight ahead.

"We're taking heavy casualties! Man down... Charlie stay with me! Medic!"

"Where is our artillery? Where is our support?"

"We are not staying here; fall back to rally point Echo 5-6!"

"HQ this is Delta Lead, Foxtrot 2-5, 6-2, and 3-8 are overrun. We have lost contact with X-Ray. We are linking up with the remainder of Alpha and setting up a perimeter at Sierra 3-7."

Jacob and Sam circled around the mountain, chasing after a JAS-39. Sam locked up the bandit, letting off cannon rounds and tearing off the fighter's right wing. Jacob broke away only to be presented with his new target, another F-16. With the flip of a switch, he armed a Sparrow, and fired. Carefully tracking the target, Jacob watched as the timer spooled down to zero and the deadly white rocket nailed the enemy Falcon right in the tailpipe.

"That's a kill," Vaciliya announced. "Flow to the next target."

Ruth had just shot down another bandit and was about to find a new target. It didn't take long for her next objective to present itself; a SU-30MKK. Arming another Phoenix missile, she fired and the missile dropped from the belly of her F-14 and sped away, slamming into the target within seconds. Miller joined up on her right wing.

"Angel 4, with me," he said. "We're gonna go after those attack planes. They're giving our guys on the ground a hard time."

"This is Angel 4, roger," Ruth replied. "Lead the way." The two Super Tomcats listed to the left, and sharply twisted downward to go after the enemy attack planes. Once they were close enough, Ruth was able to make out six or seven A-10A Warthogs.

"Lead, I see em'!" She called. "What're we gonna do?"

"I'll move in and take a few of them out with guns, you stay back and pick off the rest of them with your Phoenix missiles," Miller replied.

"But what I if hit you by accident?" Ruth protested. If she hit her lead by accident, the squadron would not only lose its best pilot, but their pillar of moral as well.

"We'll have to match the timing between you firing the missiles, and me making a pass," he explained.

"Okay, I'll do it," Ruth finally said. "But our timing can't be off by even a second, or you're dead."

"Well let's just hope my luck hasn't run out yet," Miller finished, as he rolled into a Split-S then zoomed for the Warthogs. As he accelerated, he could feel g-forces crushing his body into the seat.

"Targets will be within range in ten seconds," Jenkins said. The wings of the Tomcat folded inward as Miller gained speed. Meanwhile, Ruth had picked her first target. She fired one of her Phoenix missiles, chose another target, and fired again. Meanwhile, Miller had just got within gun-range of the attack planes. He pulled the trigger, the cannon blazing to life, ripping holes into two of the A-10's. They exploded, and Miller passed out of sight, just as Ruth's missiles smashed the two other planes, turning the attack craft into a shower of flaming fuel and falling shrapnel. Miller circled around, confirming the kills, as he watched AA guns and SAM's take out the last two attack planes.

"Man that was close!" Jenkins said, quite relieved that he was still alive.

The tide of the battle was slowly changing. Angel squadron was leveling the playing field. Miller had just consulted Jenkins about their next target, when suddenly he looked up to the right. He caught sight of a fighter coming right at him from above, quite some distances away. He saw a missile detach from under its left wing.

"Oh shit!" he exclaimed, rolling inverted as he dropped countermeasures, avoiding a direct hit. Once again, he shoved the throttle forward and sped away. The enemy Terminator looped around from above, getting behind Miller for a chase.

"Bandit closing at six o'clock; evade!" Jenkins yelled, twisting in his seat to get a better look. The SU-37 pilot fired his cannon at Miller, hitting his Super Tomcat once rattling both pilot and navigator, the other shots zipping harmlessly passed. A relentless enemy, the Terminator pilot fired a missile at Miller.

"Missile!" Jenkins screamed. Scorch whipped the Super Tomcat into a hard turn, dropping flares, forcing the deadly little heat-seeker to go after the false targets. Miller looked behind him, and saw yet another mysterious Terminator.

"Who the hell are these guys?" Miller asked. He switched to the intercept com.

"_This is interesting," one of the pilots said. "No one's ever dodged that shot before." _

"_Lead, what's up?" _

"_There's a Tomcat pilot out there who's putting up quite a fight." _

"_You're kidding. You're having trouble downing him?" _

"_Well he's still alive, so that should be the answer for you." _

"_You need help?"_

"_No; I want him. This is the first real challenge I've had since the Garuda team." _

Miller switched back. It looked like the Terminator was coming back for him soon. His assumption was right on the money. The alert signal began to blare as another R-27 was launched.

"Break right! Break right!" Haverson shouted as he caught sight of the missile closing in on Scorch. Miller went high, popped his speed brake, and then rolled into a dive. To his surprise, he was now behind the enemy Terminator. He was stunned at first, but his finger thought for him, and Miller fired his last AIM-9.

"What! Where did-" the enemy pilot exclaimed in disbelief. The Sidewinder slammed into the SU-37's tail and he began to trail smoke.

"I've been hit? How?" the enemy asked. "Who is that pilot?"

"Lead, maybe we should get out of here."

"Sounds like a plan. We've done our job, there's nothing more we can do here. All Strigon team members withdraw from combat." The ten SU-37's bugged out, along with the remaining Belkan fighters.

"I don't believe it! They're retreating!" an allied pilot excitingly announced. Miller came around to the others. This scene looked all too familiar. His stomach sank.

"All units… IT'S A TRAP!!!" he shouted. "All planes climb above fifteen thousand feet, now!" Miller pulled up hard and hit the throttle, the engines igniting and gluing him to the seat. The others joined up behind him.

"Scorch, what's going on?" Haverson asked. Miller started to panic. He looked below. The allied fighters were climbing high, but they wouldn't make it in time.

'It's coming,' he said to himself. 'Any minute now and that weapon's gonna attack.' Twenty seconds passed; nothing.

"Lead, are you okay?" Ruth asked. Miller looked around. All the allied fighters were still in the air, and there was no sign of the unknown weapon from last time.

"Yeah, it's nothing… Just… the ghosts of the past…"

All the way back to base, he never lost his death grip on his controls.

* * *

0800 hours

Reisance Military Base, Wellow

December 17th 2025

Flynn and the 106th had proven a force to be reckoned with. The week before, they had combined forces with the 51st Separate Brigade and pushed the remaining Stovie forces out of the country. With the Estovakian Army in full retreat on all fronts, the Wellans had scored a perfect opportunity to make preparations for a counter-attack. Forces from all over the country were regrouping for this full-scale operation. Flynn was inspecting his tanks and other vehicles, while Sea Knight helicopters lowered supplies onto the ships, and additional troops were being brought in.

Allen climbed out of the tank that Flynn was currently inspecting. He had a large bandage around his right arm because he had been hit with shrapnel during the last operation.

"Okay, this one's good to go," he said.

"Excellent," Flynn replied. "How about the rest of them?"

"Uhh, tank number four took a lot of damage in the last operation; it needs a new fuel cell and some of the treads need to be replaced. Tank number five needs ammo, and number seven just needs fuel. Tanks eleven, thirteen, and fourteen were complete losses"

"Okay," Flynn replied. "I'll have the engineers get to work on it." Rob finished his check up list when something felt different. He couldn't point it out at first, but when he looked over at Walker he realized what it was.

"You're not smoking," he said, coming to realize just what was missing.

"I quit," Allen simply replied with a slight smile. He jumped off of the tank.

"I'm impressed," Flynn said while slightly nodding his head. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, commander. But man withdrawals suck!"

"Hey, I believe in you. You can do it." Walker smiled and turned away, moving on to consult the engineers about the three tanks.

Rob stared outward at the harbor. The Carrier was stationed just outside, and Wellan aircraft were landing. A Wellan Carrier usually carried Rafale M's. It was a highly agile multirole aircraft with minimal stealth. Some of them were configured for air-to-air combat, while others were set up for anti-ship defenses. Other aircraft included A-6E Intruders or E-2 Hawkeyes, and in some instances, F-35C's. Right now, though, the only fighters coming in were the Rafales.

Then he looked back at the harbor. The escort ships were being prepped for combat and the long trip ahead. The two Iowa Class battleships had been heavily modified for the modern battlefield. The new modifications included Tomahawk land-attack missiles, Harpoon anti-ship missiles, and the Super Rapid Bloom Offboard Chaff System. They were true war machines.

Flynn's tanks were going to be loaded onto the ships soon. More than 15% of Wellow's armed forces were participating in the operation. The allied forces High-Command officially designated it "Operation Ground and Pound," or as the troops were calling it "Operation Annihilation." The strongest armies on the planet, Osea, Yuktobania, and Wellow were all contributing the offensive. Aurelia and Sotoa were too busy fighting their own wars to contribute, and ISAF was also in a tight situation. Osea was going to send support to Usea, but ISAF insisted that they could take care of it themselves.

Rusto came up to Flynn. "Everyone's ready to go," he said.

"Okay, let's move," Flynn replied. "They're not gonna wait up for us." The 106th were loaded onto the landing boats, which were loaded onto one of the ships. The 2nd fleet made its final preparations within hours and set sail for the Ceres Ocean. Little did they know, they were walking straight into a slaughter.

* * *

1000 hours

Fort Anderson, Osea

Miller was sitting on a couch in the lounge, lethargic, a whole slew of emotions passing through him. He was confused, but at the same time, amazed. The confusion came from the fact that that weapon didn't strike the allied forces, and the amazement came from the fact that he scored a hit on an enemy Terminator. Just then, Ruth walked into the room. She had a magazine in her hand.

"That was an impressive kill, lead," she said as she sat down next to him.

"I wouldn't necessarily call it a kill," Steven replied. "I only hit him once."

"Well, you still saved our asses, and I found something out."

"What's up?"

"It turns out; the pilot of that Terminator was a member of the Strigon team." Miller's stomach sank again.

"The Strigon team?" he asked, quite terrified. Ruth nodded her head.

"That's right; the very same aces from the old war."

"So the rumors were true," Steven said. "They really did come back."

"And that means they're gonna be looking for you," a voice said from the right side of the room. Marcus entered, and pulled up a chair.

"What do you know about these guys, doc?" Miller asked.

"The Strigon team? They're the deadliest aces on the planet. I fought against those guys several times during my time as a fighter pilot. And it got worse every time we ran into them."

"Why are they gonna be looking for me?" Miller asked.

"Because you're a new challenge," Marcus simply replied. "The Strigons' hunt for game; usually allied units are no match for them and they just keep on going. But when me and Garuda One ran into them for the first time, we managed to down two of 'em, and that caught their interest. And wouldn't you know it, the second time we found them, they remembered us."

"So what're you saying?"

"I'm saying that the Strigons want a challenge. You're the new challenge for them. And until they shoot you down they will never stop coming after you."

Steve couldn't decide if he was flattered or terrified or both. The Strigon team had taken notice of him, and now they were going to be on the lookout whenever they went out on sortie.

"So what can I do?" he asked, not knowing how to handle such a situation.

"Simple," Doc replied with a grim smile. "You fight back."

1100 hours

Anfang, North Belka

When Kristovonich saw the Strigon team return he was quite surprised, just to say the least. Pasternak's Terminator was trailing smoke, and fewer craft returned than what was expected. Ilya stepped out of his fighter, cigarette in mouth.

"What happened, Lt. Commander?" Kristo asked.

"We ran into some trouble," Ilya replied. "Enemy reinforcements arrived about half way into the assault, and there was this one pilot who gave me quite a run for my money."

"Really now?" Kristo asked, skeptical. "You don't suppose it was one of the Garudas', do you?"

"Not a chance," Pasternak replied. "His flying style was totally different. So was his fighter."

"So it was a new pilot?"

"Nah, he knew what he was doing. This guy was no rookie."

"I for one never expected you to go down so easily, Lt. Commander," Kristo said while sitting down..

"Hey! I'm not through yet!" Pasternak snapped back. The General grinned. He was egging him on.

"He may have hit me once, but it won't happen again. I'm not finished with this pilot, and he _will_ be dead before this war is over."

"I'll take your word for it," Kristo said, getting up, turning around and heading back for the meeting room.

"Man I hate that guy," Toscha said coming from behind Ilya, with a wrench in his hand. He had just been working on his fighter.

"He may be an arrogant prick, but he's still in charge of this entire operation."

"Rumor has it that he's plotting to assassinate the other Generals. He wants complete and total control of the entire country."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Ilya replied, lighting up another cigarette. "Kristovonich has always been a power-hungry slob. In fact, I'm kinda shocked he hasn't killed off the others already."

"He's willing to kill his own comrades for total power?" Toscha asked.

"You'd be surprised, Toscha," Pasternak replied, before inhaling a puff of smoke. "Kristos' killed off hundreds of people close to him. Honestly, it'd be no surprise if he killed the other Generals."

"That's odd, I thought he didn't like human sacrifice," Toscha said.

"He doesn't, but he's paranoid. He's so afraid of losing his power that he'd kill those close to him for no reason at all."

"Man I hate this," Toscha said, quite frustrated. "What the fuck happened to the world, lead? I mean, it's just one war after another; I'm so sick of it!"

"We all are," Ilya replied. "Learn to accept it Toscha, this world is too unstable. Every country has a different culture and political ideals, and there are always gonna be nations with greedy, power-hungry leaders who'd exploit the peaceful countries."

He was right. As many wars as there had been in the past, the world simply hadn't learned its lesson. But maybe this was it. Maybe, just maybe, this would be the final war. The war to end _all _wars once and for all. Almost every nation that had seen armed conflict in the past thirty years was participating, and the odds were currently in favor of BOTR. Maybe they had a shot at peace. Yeah, and then maybe he would go and try to punch out God.

* * *

1120 hours

Fort Anderson, Osea

Angel squadrons returned from their mission, got about an hour's worth of sleep, and were getting ready to head out once again. Their F-14's were being prepped for the long trip ahead. Miller was inspecting the underbelly of his craft. Everything was in place. Jenkins was locking in the last Sparrow. Miller came over and held the missile in place while Jenkins finished his job. He grunted slightly, and then let go.

"Alright, that's the last one," he said.

"Yeah, let's move," Miller replied. As he was walking to the side to grab a towel, Steven noticed Marcus standing at the side of the hangar, arms crossed, and leaning into the door. He walked up to Marcus.

"So, you're leaving," Marcus said looking directly at Miller.

"Yeah," he replied. "Air Marshall McCarthy recommended us for frontline service."

"You've come a long way since I first met you," Marcus said. "And I gotta say your skills are something else. But I will warn you about the Estovakians, kid. They're no pushovers, and they don't play fair."

"I've seen them in combat," Steven replied. "They have a very unique flying style; random and unpredictable, but coordinated and sharp; if they were around during the Belkan war, they'd probably be considered solider aces."

"I can't argue with that logic. During the last war, the Stovie pilots had a move where if you were chasing one of them, they'd climb into a stall, come around, then fire a missile at you dead on. We called it the sucker punch. Not many pilots were able to evade it, and over ninety percent of all Emmerian pilots died from the attack."

"You have any advice on how I can avoid that?" Miller asked, almost annoyed that there was a problem with no solution in front of him. Marcus exhaled and sighed.

"Just try not to get too close behind them," Marcus replied. "Hey, what time is it? You need to get going soon." Steven looked at his watch. His eyes widened.

"Oh shit you're right!" he announced while running for his fighter. As he climbed into the front seat, Marcus called up to him.

"Hey Steven," he said. "Keep in touch with me; I'd love to see how your skills progress in the next few months."

"I'll be sure to write you," Miller replied.

He put on his helmet, sealed the canopy and rolled the Super Tomcat out of the hangar. Haverson and Jacob were trailing behind, while Ruth and Sam pulled out of their hangar on the other side of the runway.

"Control tower this is Angel leader," Steven said. "Holding short."

"Uhh roger Angel one, fly runway heading until clear of the airspace then proceed on course. Good luck to you."

"You too, control," Miller replied. "We'll see ya in a few months." Angel flight proceeded down the runway and lifted off into the skies. Once airborne, they immediately headed north towards their new home. Marcus looked from the ground as they headed off. His hands were on his hips and he simply smiled.

'Those boys are in for one wild ride,' he thought to himself. 'I just hope they make it.'

A few hours into their trip, the squadron flew over what appeared to be an abandoned air complex, not too far off the Osean shoreline.

"Hey, what's that?" Sam asked.

"It's an old airbase," Jacob replied. "It was mostly used during the Osean Wars and the Cold war as a frontline airbase against Yuktobania. Its mission was to send bombers straight to Okchabursk and other major Yuke cities in the event of a nuclear attack. Since the Belkan war ended, the base was shut down, and hasn't been used in almost thirty years."

"Did they take any of the equipment with them?" Michael asked.

"Actually no," Jacob replied. "Instead, what they did was strip down all of the aircraft, and all of the electronics inside the base and basically just left it to rust."

"Why would they do that?" Vaciliya asked. "There were probably perfectly good aircraft stationed at that base!"

"Actually there were mostly just F-4's and F-1's," Jacob corrected her. "Don't forget, that base was built almost sixty years ago; so most of the aircraft were highly outdated."

"How do you know all of this?" Miller asked.

"My father worked at that base for most of his military career," Jacob replied again. "He used to tell me stories about the place all the time."

Miller checked the clock. It read 1600 hours. They still had a ways to go. As they flew the sky began to darken. The sun was setting in the south.

"Jeeze I hate night flights," Jenkins mumbled in the backseat.

"Don't worry," Miller replied. "Just because we don't have visuals doesn't mean a thing. We still have our radar working. And the tanker should be coming up in a few minutes."

"I know that," Jenkins said, his voice sounding a bit trebly. "It's just… I don't know; but there's just something about night flying that gets me so jumpy."

"We'll be alright," Steven reassured him. "Only a few more hours until we reach the Carrier."

He may have spoken too soon.

"Something's not right," Sam announced with a concerned tone in his voice. "We should be seeing the tanker on radar right now."

"What the hell?" Haverson blurted out. "I'm getting hits on my scope!"

"What? Now?" Ruth asked.

"No time to think!" Miller barked while snapping on his oxygen mask. "All units prepare to intercept! Prepare to fire long-range missiles!" The five-ship leveled out with the unknown fighters. There appeared to be quite a few of them; a baker's dozen at most.

"And, targets are in firing range!" Jenkins said.

"Okay, I'm taking the shot!" Steven announced. "Angel one, Fox Three!" The five Super Tomcats each dropped one Phoenix missile and dispersed. Miller checked his scope; five enemy blips disappeared, and he could make out the explosions in the distance.

"Splash one!" Jacob called, scoring what appeared to be his seventh kill.

"More of them!" said Ruth in a small panic. "Bearing three two zero at five!"

It was dark out now; they couldn't make out exactly what kind of fighters they were downing, whether they were SU-27's or F-15's, or even if they were from Estovakia or Verusa. More contacts showed up on screen. Miller lined himself up on the bogies when Ruth came in from above. But then something strange happened. Suddenly, the blips disappeared. Miller was thrown off for a second, but then he looked into the distance to see tiny explosions.

"What the hell just happened?" Jacob asked. "Did any of you shoot them down?"

"I haven't fired off any more shots," Sam replied. "Where'd they go?"

"Gargoyle, what's going on out there?" Miller asked Jenkins.

"Ahh shit!" Jenkins blurted out. "Those are stealth fighters!"

"I count six Sukhoi PAK FA's," said Jacob.

"How can you tell?" Haverson asked, quite puzzled by the sudden change of events, and that showed in his voice.

"Because one's flying right above me," he replied, looking up at the Stealth fighter just a few yards above his canopy. Suddenly, the five Osean pilots heard a crackle of static over the com, followed by the voice of one of the Sukhoi pilots. He chuckled a bit.

"Heheh, sorry about the scare pilots," a young man with a medium accent broke through. "Uhh, this is Luch three, of the Yuktobanian Air Force 177th Stealth fighter Squadron."

"How did you find us?" Haverson asked with relief clear in his voice. One could practically hear his smile.

"We received a report of a downed tanker aircraft in this area and we scrambled from Murska Air Base; it so happened that you five were in the area, so we decided to give you a hand."

"You certainly have my gratitude," Miller thanked them, his heart rate slowly decreasing. "But what're we gonna do? We don't have enough fuel to get to the Aphrodite."

"Murska isn't too far from here," a female Yuke pilot cut in. "You can land there and refuel and re-arm."

"Well, we don't seem to have another option," Miller replied. "Okay; Angel squadron, let's follow them."

"Roger!" they replied as one. As the nine fighters swam through the night sky, Steven looked up at the stars, and the moon. Both were beautiful, as was the glow of the ocean. Down below, he could have sworn that he saw dolphins swimming, jumping up and out of the water as they seemed to follow the flight of aircraft. Steven took a moment to take it all in, and see as much of it as he could before his next battle. Miller took a second to listen; everyone was quiet. The Yuktobanian pilots really saved their asses back there.

To Miller's left side was one of the Yuke fighters. The PAK FA was Yuktobania's answer to Osea's F-22, along with its SU-47 and MIG-1.44. It was Sukhoi's best, most sophisticated fighter to date. Not since the SU-37 had an aircraft been so praised by the eastern world. Calling it "The world's greatest stealth fighter," the YAF had the plane commissioned back in 2013, and put into mass-production in 2018. In fact, the PAK FA was so good, and so well qualified for any job, that Air Forces from all over the world were trading in their F-22's for the new fighter. And with Verusa and Clavis producing their new J-XX Stealth fighter, the F-22 had met its match.

* * *

1900 hours

An hour into their trip, the flight was on approach to Murska.

"Home sweet home," one of the Yuke pilots said in relief. The two squadrons landed on separate runways and taxied to the side. Miller shut down the engines, got out of the F-14, and stretched. His squadron met up with him in the hangar. Around them was a multitude of activity, from fighters taking off into the night sky, to APC's coming in and unloading troops and supplies to the base.

"The Yukes have quite an army," Sam remarked, watching all of the base activity being executed in such tight fashion. "And an Air Force to boot." Miller thought the same thing. The Yukes had an impressive arsenal of aircraft at their disposal. Aircraft at Murska AFB included the following.

**Fighters: **

Twenty SU-27 Flankers

Twenty SU-30 Flanker-C's

Fifteen SU-35 Super Flankers

Twenty Five MIG-33 Super Fulcrums

Ten MIG-31 Foxhounds

Ten MIG-1.44 Flapacks

Six PAK FA's

**Bombers:**

Fifteen SU-24 Fencer D's

Fifteen SU-34 Fullbacks

Ten TU-22M Backfires

Ten TU-160 Blackjacks

**Transports/Tankers **

Five AN-124 Condors

Ten II-76's Candid's

Two II-78's Midas's

**AWACS/Reconnaissance **

Eight MIG-25 Foxbats

Three A-50 Mainstays

With over a hundred and fifty aircraft, Murska AFB was the biggest airbase in Yuktobania, rivaled only by Osea's Langley AFB. Miller felt like a little kid in a toy store. Yuktobanian aircraft were all over the place. He had always been fond of Yuke aircraft design, simple and rugged yet reliable and deadly. Since the base was right on the coastline, the fighters were all painted in a sky blue or sea camouflage scheme. Normal Yuke fighters had desert/woodland camo.

And on the water at the nearby port were the pride of the Union; the ships of the Yuktobanian Maritime Force 4th fleet; eighteen ships, all of which had seen combat at least once throughout their term of service. The pride of the fleet was its Aircraft Carrier, the YNS Admiral Tsanev II, an Ulyanovsk class Super carrier, housing thirteen SU-33 Flanker D's, twelve MIG-29K's, and four SU-32's, the Tsanev was truly masterpiece of Yuktobanian ship design. Only two had ever been built, and the Yuktobania military was looking to build six more within the next decade, to keep up with the YMF's ten Admiral Kuznetsov Carriers.

Over all the commotion, Miller heard the sound of a hangar opening. He turned around, and a single MIG-1.44 was pulled out. As he observed the eight soldiers pull the craft out, he noticed that one of them had the patch of a Yuktobanian General. This man was General Anton Lebedev of the YAF. He was tall, with semi-dark skin, white hair, and a pair of eyes that had seen a hundred battles.

One of the Luch squadron pilots approached him, and said something into his ear. The General looked over to Miller and his squadron, and began to approach.

"Shit, that's General Lebedev," Miller announced to his pilots as they all looked over to the old man. "Look alive, everyone."

The five pilots stood firm, and all snapped a crisp salute, which the General returned.

"At ease," he said, his dry, crackly voice practically echoing over the base. "So, you're the man who saved thirty of my pilots," the General continued, regarding Miller's quick thinking during the last full-scale engagement between Osea and Estovakia.

"Yes sir, that would be me," Miller replied, firmly, not wanting to toot his own horn.

"Well God bless you, son," Lebedev said, shaking Miller's hand, and smiling slightly. "You sure saved me a lot of visits to plenty of upset families." It was true. The General personally greeted the family of any Yuktobanian pilots killed in battle.

"So, what brings you to my great country?" he asked them, a warm sincere vibe about him. "How can we help you?"

"Well, your boys over there bailed us out after our tanker was shot down," Miller told him, still standing firm with his arms crossed. "We could use some fuel, and some ammo would be nice as well."

Lebedev looked over to Angel squadrons F-14's, which were being attended to by Yuktobanian engineers. He observed them for a second.

"We can fix you up with fuel, but umm, ammo might be a problem, considering this Air base is supplied solely by the YAF."

"I'm sure it won't be a big deal," Steven replied, not wanting to aggravate the General. "As long as we can get to our carrier, we'll be fine."

"I'm sure we can manage that," Lebedev finished, walking away to consult his advisor. Miller turned to Haverson.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, concerning the situation.

"Honestly," he replied, a stiff grin on his face. "With all the weapons that they have here, I could stay here for the entire war." Miller nodded, and continued his scan of the base.

Suddenly, he noticed a very familiar set of Flankers. He couldn't quite place his finger on it until he noticed the pilot stepped out.

* * *

And so concludes the eleventh chapter of Paradox Crisis. Thought I wad long gone, did ya? Nope, I'm back and I'm still in action. Until the summer roles around, updates will be infrequent, unfortunately. I got a lot of stuff to take care of. As always, I hope you enjoyed, I appreciate your reads, and reviews are greatly appreciated. Your brutal honestly is desired.

Credits

James Tobin: Concept/Ideas

Thomas John: Events/Dialogue

Wingedfreedom622: Proofreading/Editing


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